


Five Nights In Nuremberg

by FuryRed



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Angst, BAMF Erik, Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik Has Feelings, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Eventual Smut, Fully German Erik, Hurt/Comfort, Language Barrier, M/M, Mutant Concentration Camps, Poor Charles, Protective Erik, Vulnerable Charles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-06 08:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12813156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed
Summary: When Charles escapes from the mutant prison he has been held in for the last two years he knows that he’s going to need help to avoid being recaptured.What he doesn’t expect is that help will come in the form of a mysterious German man who rescues Charles and takes him to his home; a handsome stranger who, frustratingly, doesn’t speak a single word of English…





	1. Nacht Eins

**Author's Note:**

> Hugeeeeeeeee thanks to [Madmalina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/madmalina/pseuds/madmalina) for an amazing German beta. I wouldn't have been able to do it without her :)

 

 

It’s cold outside, colder than anything Charles has ever experienced before. Above him the moon shines its pale light upon the ground, illuminating harsh snow that spans the earth like a dense, suffocating blanket, ridding the world of anything green, or lush, or alive. If Charles doesn’t find shelter soon, he will surely be dead too.

For almost five hours Charles has wandered across the frozen wasteland, traversing vast acres thick with snowfall, seeing no sign of civilization save for the glaring lights of the complex he has just escaped from, fading into insignificance the further Charles travels away from it. In truth, civilization is not what Charles really needs. He needs salvation- somewhere he can be safe, somewhere he can hide, somewhere he can wait for the drug in his system to wear off so that he can use his telepathy once more. Only then can Charles truly be free.

Freedom. It’s a foreign concept to a man kept imprisoned for almost two years, persecuted for little reason other than the fact that he is a mutant. Never mind the fact that Charles has never hurt another living soul- apparently his very DNA screams ‘danger’, and both sense and reason fall deaf on thick human ears. For years Charles has been told that there is no way to escape save for being removed in a simple pine box, though Charles knows even that is overstating the facts. More than once he has stood in the prison yard, looking up at the dense smog-like sky and tasting the stale ash within the acrid air, and has known that, truly, there is no way out. Not for the living.

And yet, Charles has never given up hope, and it’s that same hope that now has him stumbling blindly through the snow, seeking solace in an unknown land. Charles doesn’t even know where he is but he remembers where he came from, and it is thoughts of warm fires and cups of tea and people who are sometimes blue and sometimes pink that keep Charles moving, hoping and praying that he will one day return home, and that she will be there.

Above Charles the night sky looms large and vapid; an endless sea of stars looking down, watching but not helping, barely even lighting the way. Although Charles at least had the good fortune to acquire a guard’s uniform before he fled, the stiff outfit provides little respite from the bitter chill; the icy wind that makes it feel like there are shards forcing their way down Charles’ throat, forming ice around his lungs. Each breath is agony, making it feel like Charles is being held underwater in a frozen lake, restrained and contained but fighting, always fighting. After a while the pain is less but that’s worse somehow, because now Charles’ limbs feel numb as he shifts them through the driving snow, not even noticing when his feet encounter debris that trips him, sending him spilling face-first into the white abyss.

It’s cruel, Mother Nature, but Charles knows no crueller than the humans will be if they catch him, and so he picks himself up and forges on. If Charles could just find some small dwelling to shelter in he could at least stand some chance of living through the night, and perhaps venturing on again in the morning assuming the weather eases up. But as it currently stands there appears to be nothing all around, not that Charles can necessarily see more than five feet ahead of himself. It’s like being trapped in a snowglobe, and now that Charles is far enough away from the complex he can see no landmarks whatsoever in the shifting darkness, just a flurry of white against a black background.

Conclusively seeing the terrain is impossible, but it’s unmistakeable the way the ground suddenly turns from soft to firm beneath Charles’ feet, suggesting that he is no longer treading through grassland. Charles advances further and finds himself slumping over what appears to be part of a fence, and these two things tell Charles that he has likely stumbled upon a road or track of some sort- something that fills Charles with mutual relief and apprehension.

It would be easy for Charles to stay the course, to walk along this apparent road, knowing that at some point it must surely lead to a place of shelter. However, on the other hand, sticking to a defined path will only increase the chance that Charles will be found, and it is more than likely that it will be the prison guards who discover him. Though Charles has not heard any kind of tell-tale siren coming from the complex, he knows it’s only a matter of time before his escape is discovered, and the guards won’t hesitate to hunt him down. They have to keep their secret, after all. Charles knows only too well that they will kill him to keep it.

It’s a desperate situation, made all the more desperate still by the fact that Charles is smart enough to recognise the signs of exposure when he feels them. His muscles are becoming stiff, his breathing slow and shallow. What thoughts Charles has are confused and scattered, and he’s alarmed to realise that he’s having trouble remembering his sister’s name. If he doesn’t find shelter soon he will surely lose consciousness, and that is the first step on the slippery slope to death. Charles cannot die now. He’s still young, he has so much to do- not least of which is his pressing need to one day return to the complex and rescue those mutants still trapped inside. And so, Charles chooses the road. He puts one foot in front of the other and forges forward, following the hazy outline of the fence against the backdrop of falling snow, hoping that he will find shelter before he finds death.

As it is, Charles finds neither. He walks for perhaps another thirty minutes- a space of time that seems both brief and endless- fighting against his own body for control, knowing that if it shuts down it will be the beginning of the end. Charles’ eyes are closing now, and though he is still stumbling forward he finds that sometimes he isn’t even seeing where he is going- everything is white then black, white then black. When the ground rises up to meet him it takes Charles by surprise, as one minute he is squinting into the near distance, wondering if he is seeing a light approaching or if it is just his imagination, and the next he is falling. And as he slumps into the icy ground, snow pressing firm against his closed eyelids, he finally recalls his sister’s name.

 _“Raven…”_ Charles thinks, as he uses his last few moments of consciousness to say goodbye to her in his mind.

 

When Charles awakens, he is somewhere warm. It is both relieving and troubling.

Charles’ eyes slowly crack open, his sight fuzzy at first but adjusting slowly as he sees the sloped roof of a ceiling above him- all wooden rafters and boards that provide a welcome respite from the arctic winds Charles can hear howling outside. As Charles starts to move his limbs he is at first reassured to realise that he can feel his fingers again, but then distressed as he feels something pressing down upon his hands, keeping them in place. It is another few seconds before Charles realises that it’s merely the hefty covers of several blankets, snug around his body keeping him warm but making it hard for him to move.

Pinned in place, too weak to shift even mere blankets, Charles tilts his head to attempt to see more of the room in which he now lies, noting first the wooden posts of the bed he is lying in and, across the room, a door left ajar to reveal a bathroom within which there is a small window with shutters drawn to keep back the night. With considerable effort, Charles lifts his head to allow him to look down to the foot of the bed, and when he does so the sight before him makes his heart hammer erratically within his chest- the increased rate a comforting reminder of the fact that the organ is at least still working, but at the same time an indication of the danger Charles now finds himself in.

There’s a large open fireplace at the end of the room, one that is giving out considerable heat and that is likely the reason why Charles is still alive. Above it there is some sort of long metal wire that spans the width of the room, over which are draped some clothes- _Charles’ clothes_. It’s with steadily increasing alarm that Charles slowly moves his hand under the covers to trace his own leg, finding that- save for his underwear- he has been completely stripped bare. It’s an unsettling notion, particularly when Charles sees who has stripped him.

In front of the fire a man is kneeling on the floor, slowly feeding logs to the flames. His back is to Charles but Charles can tell that he is strong- it is evidenced in the defined muscles of the man’s forearms, displayed where the sleeves of his jumper are pulled up to his elbows. The man turns briefly to the side to reach for a poker and Charles sees the line of a defined jaw dusted with stubble, a strong nose, and a grim expression that suggests that this is someone who holds troubles within their heart. This person has saved Charles- clearly- but that doesn’t mean that Charles feels at all comfortable about being held within his thrall, particularly when he has no idea what the man’s intentions may be.

But what can Charles do? Exposure has left him weak and defenceless, so whatever the man may want with him Charles can do nothing to object, and given that Charles is near naked in the man’s bed it seems only too clear what his plans for Charles are likely to be. Nevertheless, even though Charles may not be able to fight off this stranger with strength alone, physical prowess is not something Charles has ever relied on anyway. He’s a man of words, even if his telepathy has always provided him with a unique and deadly weapon, and all he can do is hope that reason and argument will save him now.

At least, that is the intention, but as Charles opens his mouth to speak he finds that the cold has taken his voice too, and the most he can get out is a small pathetic squeak. It’s not the best form of introduction, and Charles is alarmed as across the room the stranger immediately turns around, fixing Charles with a piercing glare that is both calm and menacing at the same time. He stands, and Charles can tell that- were Charles standing too- this man would tower over him. The realisation doesn’t help Charles’ assessment of his current predicament one bit.

With his eyes fixed solely on where Charles is lying in the bed, the man advances. He steps over towards Charles with precise, determined movement, fists clenched at his sides and mouth set in a firm line that belies any hint of friendliness. Charles knows that he needs to reason with this man, if only he could find his tongue, but it soon becomes clear that even speech is unlikely to save him…

“Wo kommst du her?” the man asks, stopping at the side of the bed and staring down at Charles. “Bist du ein Wärter?”

Charles openly gapes. The man’s words confirm something that Charles has always suspected, something suggested to him by the accents of many of the guards, but something Charles had never been completely sure of- not even when he’d seen the signs proclaiming ‘HALT!’ as he’d made his escape. Now though, _now_ Charles knows the truth. He’s a long way from Westchester.

The lack of response from Charles seems to make the stranger even more tense, anger becoming evident in the drawn lines of his brow.

“Antworte! Bist du aus dem Gefängnis? Warum bist du hier??”

If only there was some way to communicate, and Charles finds himself both wishing that he had access to his telepathy and that he’d paid more attention in his language classes at school. But as it is Charles can say nothing, do nothing- an absence of action that makes his captor grow increasingly infuriated…

Without another word the German turns and strides over to the fire, seizing hold of the jacket Charles was wearing and yanking it from the clothesline before turning back around.

“Woher hast du das?” the man demands, brandishing the jacket like it is an accusation, and causing Charles to crawl up the bed reflexively, drawing his knees up to his chest as a futile form of protection. “Es ist deine Uniform, nicht wahr? Du bist einer der menschlichen Wächter!”

Charles stares up at the man in unabashed fear, knowing that he needs to give some sort of answer but also knowing that, without an idea as to what the stranger is even asking, if he says the wrong thing he is only going to end up getting himself into even more trouble. But to Charles it seems like perhaps the man is angry at the _uniform_ , not necessarily at Charles himself, and so as the stranger abruptly advances Charles throws out both his hands in some desperate attempt at defence, looking up at him and pleading: “Stop, stop! Please don’t hurt me- I’m not a guard I’m a mutant!”

At Charles’ words the German grows still, lowering his hands and staring at Charles as he says quietly: “Du bist ein Mutant?”

“Um, mutant- yes…” Charles replies meekly, still not trusting the man’s responses enough to unfold from his defensive position.

“Was sind deine Kräfte?” the German asks softly. “Zeitreise? Telekinese? Kannst du fliegen? Oder die Zukunft sehen?”

Charles lets out a shaky breath, feeling better about his current predicament but still very wary.

“I’m a telepath…” Charles says quietly.

There’s no mistaking the way the man’s eyebrows raise in certain interest and perhaps awe. “Ein Telepath? Sehr interessant… Und dein Akzent - du bist Engländer?”

Charles nods, at least understanding a small bit of what is being said. “Yes, yes- I’m English. I live in America though, or at least I used to…”

The German stares at Charles for a long moment, an expression of quiet contemplation on his face. With nothing being said Charles allows himself some time to continue with his appraisal of this stranger who has apparently brought Charles into his home, feeling like any information he can garner might prove to be extremely useful either now or in the future. The man is dressed in warm, comfortable clothes, with patches and marks in various places that tell Charles that the German does not live a life of wealth- most likely spending the majority of his time in this very same cabin they are in right now. There’s no evidence of technology- television, phone, or otherwise- suggesting that either the man cannot afford such luxuries or he doesn’t want them, or perhaps more likely that they are so completely out in the sticks that the powerlines do not reach this far, save for the fact that Charles can see electric lights overhead. The realisation that there is likely no means of easily contacting the outside world has Charles feeling considerable troubled, and he is so busy dwelling on the subject that he can’t help but jump as the German abruptly advances forward once more.

“Es tut mir leid…” the man says, holding up both hands as if in submission, the guard’s coat still clutched in one of them. “Hab keine Angst- ich werde dir nicht weh tun”.

Charles stares blankly back, still cowering slightly in his position sitting on the bed, very conscious of the fact that beneath the pile of blankets he’s practically nude. It must be something that the man quickly remembers too, as he immediately turns away from Charles and crosses the room- throwing the guard’s coat over the clothesline before opening a set of drawers at the side of the room and beginning to fumble inside. After a short while he turns back towards the bed, holding an armful of clothing that he brings over and offers to Charles.

“Bitte…” the German says with a nod, gesturing the clothes towards Charles. After a moment of hesitation Charles slowly unfolds from his balled up position and reaches tentatively for what he’s being offered, feeling instantly relieved when he takes the clothing and the man immediately turns around to face the fire, giving Charles some semblance of privacy.

Charles limbs are still weak and woozy as he turns to the side of the bed and places his feet on the floor, standing up slowly but shaking nonetheless. Really Charles should take his time in case his balance gives out and he falls over, but knowing that there’s someone else- a stranger- in the room has Charles itching to get dressed as soon as possible, even if he doesn’t particularly want to wear someone else’s clothes. Still, at least the clothing Charles has been provided with is warm and comfortable, and before long he is wrapped up in a pair of soft trousers- most likely some sort of pyjamas- as well as a t-shirt and a cosy jumper, the latter of which is far too big for Charles and swamps him considerably. At first Charles fiddles with the sleeves, attempting to roll them up, but looking down for too long soon has Charles’ vision swimming, and before he knows it he has toppled unceremoniously onto the ground.

Charles hits the floor with a soft “Oof!”, banging his head as he goes down and immediately seeing stars. It’s only a short while that Charles lies there before there is a sharp intake of breath and some muttering that Charles doesn’t quite catch, and then strong arms are sliding beneath Charles’ knees and back as he is hauled upright, bringing him face-to-face with his captor, now saviour.

The eyes Charles is gazing into are deep and intense, seeming like a mixture of blue and green and grey, like the sea before a storm, or a cloudy sky on an overcast day. Charles is lost in them, though he knows he’s probably embarrassing himself by staring even more than he did by falling over, but it’s been so long since Charles has been this close to _anyone_ and he can’t help but find himself lulled by the feeling of a thumb gently stroking along his back, rising gooseflesh in its wake.

“Du bist wie Bambi…” the German says, and Charles doesn’t think he’s imagining the hint of amusement in his tone, or the way the corners of his lips draw up ever so slightly.

Charles remains spellbound as he is carried over towards the fire, before being lowered into an armchair carefully, like he is precious cargo rather than some idiot who has been saved more than once. The German steps away and gathers up one of the blankets that is lying on the bed, before bringing it back and draping it over the chair that Charles is sitting in, tucking it in firmly so that Charles is nice and snug.

“Thank you…” Charles says quietly, feeling hopeless indebted to this man who is helping him for reasons that Charles cannot comprehend, though he would like to. “Um, what do I call you?”

The man settles into the armchair across from Charles, raising his eyebrows questioningly as Charles struggles to explain himself.

“Ah, gosh- how do you say it…?” Charles mutters. “Um, your name?” he points blindly at himself. “I’m Charles, and you’re…?”

The German smiles, there is no mistaking it this time. “Mein Name ist Erik”.

“Erik…” Charles says, rolling the word over in his mouth as if he is tasting it. “Hi, Erik…”

“Hallo, Charles…”

For a long moment Charles just stares over at Erik, noting the amusement still evident in his expression and wondering how someone can go from menacing to amiable in such a short space of time. It’s almost like that word- ‘mutant’- has unlocked some kind of special acceptance from Erik, though Charles cannot begin to speculate as to why. Charles had always assumed that those individuals living close to the complex were either completely unaware of what was happening to the mutants inside or they supported it, but neither theory seems to hold much weight when it comes to Erik.

“My friend, you are most unusual…” Charles murmurs quietly, prompting an eyebrow raise from Erik that betrays his bemusement, but there is no point even attempting to explain and so Charles simply shakes his head, before sitting back in the chair as he attempts to get comfortable.

There’s a bone weariness in Charles’ body and he knows that, whilst the moderate amount of rest he has had under Erik’s care has provided him with some reprieve from his poor condition, it’s clear he will still require a great deal more time to recover before he is back to full health once again. Charles is aware that he will need to leave at some point and he’s prepared to do so, he only hopes that Erik will at least permit him to wait out the storm before he is required to depart. With a language barrier in place though it’s difficult for Charles to even begin to ask for shelter for the night, but just as Charles is trying to attempt to figure out some means of communication, Erik’s words pull him from thought.

“Du solltest etwas essen…”

Charles stares over at Erik, not understanding in the least, and the bewildered look on his face must evidently be amusing because Erik immediately begins to smile before he lifts one hand to his mouth, closed fingers tapping against his lips like he is miming something.

“Oh! You’re asking me about food?” Charles says, hoping that he has understood correctly as his stomach audibly growls in response to the idea and Charles reflexively places one hand over it.

Erik nods. “Ja, _food_ ”. He places one hand over his own stomach in an imitation of the same gesture. “Du musst hungrig sein. Willst du auch etwas trinken? Kaffee? Tee?”

“Tea??” Charles asks hopefully, excited at the idea that he might have finally found a word that’s similar in both languages, one that also happens to be something he wants desperately. He starts to lean forward in the chair, feeling like he should at least attempt to help with whatever Erik is offering, but within an instant Erik stands up and reaches down to grasp Charles’ shoulder, gently pushing him back into his seat.

“Du musst dich ausruhen. Ich hole den Tee”.

Erik’s instruction is implicit, and so Charles sits back in the armchair and waits patiently as Erik leaves the room. A few minutes later Erik returns carrying in a tray, and Charles smiles gratefully as Erik places it across his lap- seeing that it contains a plate of sandwiches, some sort of pastry, an apple, and a large cup of tea which Charles immediately reaches for.

Whilst Charles consumes the provisions he’s been offered Erik remains sat with him at the fire, the air around them static and still save for the howling of the wind outside. It’s not the most uncomfortable silence Charles has ever had in his life but he still wishes desperately that he could talk to Erik, particularly when he still has no idea what Erik is thinking or how long he might permit Charles to stay. After the food has been consumed and Charles has drained the last dregs of his tea he offers Erik his thanks and watches as Erik takes the tray away, before glancing briefly around the room as he searches for any sign of something he’s been hoping for, even though it seems increasingly unlikely. When Erik re-enters the room, Charles turns to him.

“Um, Erik- do you have a phone I could use, please?” Charles asks hopefully, lifting his hand up and sticking his thumb and pinkie finger out in an imitation of a handset.

“Ein Telefon?” Erik replies. “Nein, tut mir leid”.

Despite the fact that it’s what Charles expected his face still falls in disappointment, realising that, even though he’s managed to escape the complex, he’s still so far away from seeing Raven again, or returning home.

“Du hast jemanden, der dich vermisst…”

Charles glances up at Erik, seeing the empathy evident in Erik’s expression- almost like he understands how Charles is feeling even without him having said anything. It’s startling how much of language isn’t derived from speech like that. What’s also surprising is how at ease Charles feels in the home of a perfect stranger, content to just sit with his knees drawn up to his chest with the blanket wrapped snug around him, staring tranquilly into the fire as Erik sits back in the adjacent armchair once more. Thoughts of Raven still linger as they sit in silence, making Charles yearn for home, but for now he is comfortable and warm and safer than he’s been in years, and it’s unsurprising when he soon finds himself succumbing to the fatigue that still lingers within his bones.

After perhaps the third time when Charles’ eyes close and head dips forward Erik stands up, moving over to where Charles is sitting as he gestures for Charles to get up from the chair. Charles legs are still shaky and for a troubling few seconds he feels like he might be about to keel over again, but in an instant Erik is there- stepping closer as he wraps an arm around Charles’ back to steady him.

“Zeit fürs Bett, kleine Maus. Ich wünschte nur, ich könnte mich dir anschließen…”

“Huh?” Charles asks, gaping cluelessly and feeling rather like he’s missed something when Erik slips into one of his increasingly common private smiles.

“Bett. Schlaf”. Erik makes a pretend snoring sound and Charles finally grasps what he’s talking about, and he allows himself to be led back over to the bed across the room.

It’s perhaps a little bit indecent the way Charles groans when he slips beneath the covers, but it’s just so comfortable that he can’t really help himself. Of course, when Erik grins and raises his eyebrows it immediately makes Charles blush as he regrets his lapse in control, and the heat only continues to rise in Charles’ face as Erik leans over the bed to ensure Charles is comfortably tucked in. From such a close proximity Charles can smell the enticing scent of Erik’s skin and feel the heat coming from his body, and it’s been so long since Charles was this close to another person that he finds it hard to resist the urge to impulsively pull Erik down on top of himself, or to find some way to beg Erik to stay. But before Charles can even try to guess what the German for ‘Please sleep with me and keep me safe’ might be Erik is standing up straight once more, mercifully out of Charles’ reach.

“Schlaf gut”, Erik says with a warm smile.

“Thank you…” Charles responds earnestly. “I really don’t know how to thank you enough for helping me, Erik”.

For a long moment Erik merely gazes down at Charles, that same depth of feeling in his eyes that Charles saw before- the one that tells Charles that this is someone multifaceted, someone with substance. Still, even though Charles feels like he is able to read Erik to some degree there is still so much that he doesn’t understand- like the parting words Erik shares before he leaves:

“Etwas sagt mir, dass du den Schutz wert bist”.


	2. Nacht Zwei

 

 

With the morning comes a break in routine. For two years Charles has begun each day with the same sights before his weary eyes- each one compounding the reality of his life and ultimately his imprisonment. But as Charles awakens on this particular day, eyelids cracking open to regard a room bathed in soft light, it’s not cold white tiles or metal bars or the sound of someone preparing chemicals that greets him, it’s a warm and welcoming sight- a steaming hot cup of tea on the bedside table.

Charles shifts towards the side of the bed without thinking, reaching for the mug and taking an eager sip before he is even sat completely upright. Some of the chill from yesterday’s experience still lingers within his bones making him shiver unwillingly, but the tea helps to dispel at least some of the shaking, making Charles feel considerably more grounded. By the time the cup has been half-consumed Charles’ other senses begin to kick in, and his stomach growls as he registers the enticing smells coming from outside the bedroom.

Though Erik has been more than hospitable thus far Charles still fears overstepping his bounds, and so it is with some caution that he wanders over towards the door, still clutching the tea within his hands. As Charles begins to turn the door handle he realises he can hear noises coming from outside that accompany the enticing smells- the sizzle of something cooking in a pan, the quiet hum of music playing, and… _singing_?

It’s low and hushed but it’s unmistakable, and as Charles pushes open the door he sees Erik and his assumptions are confirmed. It appears that the rest of the cabin is composed of one moderately sized room which encompasses the kitchen, dining, and living areas all in one space; a contained open-plan format that is cosy without being cramped. In the kitchen area, just in front of the stove, Erik is standing with his back to Charles, one arm moving like he is stirring something in a pot as soft sound comes from his lips. The words, like all of Erik’s words, are indecipherable, but the harmony is beautiful nonetheless. Erik is singing- a low, melodic tone that warms Charles’ heart as it provides memory of his childhood- his father’s voice, tuneful and happy when he would tuck Charles into bed at night. It’s been a long time since Charles has thought of such a thing, and the memories are the very definition of bittersweet- they prompt a fond ache within Charles’ heart as he both treasures the things he once had and laments the things he has since lost.

Charles doesn’t realise he has sighed out loud until Erik abruptly stops singing, and he quickly turns around to face Charles.

“Oh, guten Morgen, Charles. Ich habe dich nicht aufstehen gehört”.

It’s unmistakeable the way Erik’s cheeks turn ever so slightly flushed, and though Charles doesn’t know Erik very well he can’t help but think of it as some rare event, one that makes Charles feel as if he has been granted a special privilege.

“Good morning, Erik”, Charles replies, edging further into the room.

Erik smiles. “Möchtest du etwas frühstücken?”

Though Charles cannot understand what Erik is saying the tone of his voice suggests it’s a question- most likely regarding whether Charles slept well or whether he’s hungry. Either way the answer is yes, and so Charles smiles politely and nods, and begins to wander over towards the dining table. As Charles takes a seat he notices a sofa in the far corner of the room, one that still has a pillow and blanket strewn over it, confirming to Charles that the cabin doesn’t have another bedroom, even though Charles can see a closed door that must lead to another room of some sort. Regardless, Erik gave up his own bed in order for Charles to be comfortable last night. The knowledge prompts a feeling of guilt, as well as gratitude towards Erik for his assistance.

With Charles seated at the dining table, Erik continues to cook. There is no further singing, something that leaves Charles feeling oddly disappointed, but the sights and smells of food coming from the kitchen area soon make up for that, as each one tells Charles he is in for a hearty meal. Whilst Charles waits he amuses himself by looking over the newspaper that has been left on the kitchen table- one that appears to be a few days old by Charles’ estimations, assuming he is understanding the German date correctly, though it’s possible Charles lost track of time whilst he was held within the complex. Either way, there is little Charles can discern from the text other than the date anyway.

The entire newspaper is in German, and though there are words here and there that Charles can understand and the pictures certainly help, for the most part he is completely lost. And so, Charles flicks idly through the pages, noting that there is no mention of the word ‘mutant’ within the news articles, confirming to Charles that the citizens of this region are either unaware of the mutant condition or they don’t talk about it. Midway through the newspaper there is a large spread across two pages that shows a map of the world- something to do with the costs of flights to certain countries from what Charles can determine, and he pauses for a moment as he stares down at the pages, fingertips tracing slowly over the image of North America, lost in wistful thought.

“Du willst heim gehen…”

Charles looks up to find Erik stood beside himself, staring down at Charles thoughtfully, two plates held in his hands.

“ _Heim_ …?” Charles says. “Does that mean ‘home’, I wonder? If so, yes- that’s what I’m thinking about. My house in Westchester; my home. I haven’t been there in so long… I miss it”.

Erik nods as if he understands, though it’s most likely that he’s just sympathetic regardless of comprehension, and Charles turns his attention back to the appetising meal he can smell- watching eagerly as Erik places the two plates down on the table and takes a seat.

For a while they eat in silence, mostly because they can’t communicate and also because Charles is famished and consequently so preoccupied with consuming as much delicious food as possible that he cannot bear to pause. After Charles’ cup of tea has been drained Erik provides him with another and then, having already finished his own meal, watches as Charles clears his plate before reaching for the toast on offer. Whilst Charles doesn’t want to appear greedy or presumptuous, it’s been so long since he has eaten anything more substantial than the meagre rations given to him during his time at the complex, and he can’t help but take his fill. Afterwards Erik clears the plates away, and then he re-joins Charles at the table, turned towards Charles in his seat with one hand wrapped around a cup of coffee.

“Thank you…” Charles says gratefully, smiling at Erik. “That was wonderful, Erik. You’re an amazing cook”.

Erik just continues to gaze at Charles in that thoughtful and intense way he does sometimes, and so after a moment Charles turns his attention back towards the newspaper, smoothing over where the pages have become rumpled by having the plates nudged against them.

“Du hast mal hier gelebt, nicht wahr?” Erik says, tapping his forefinger against the image of North America. “Bevor du nach Deutschland gekommen bist? Hast du alleine gelebt?”

Charles can’t help but stare blankly back at Erik, but is reassured to find that his continued lack of understanding is apparently amusing rather than irritating, as Erik immediately smiles before reaching for a pen. After that, Charles watches as Erik draws two crude stick figures in a blank space on the paper, writing ‘Charles’ above one and drawing a loveheart over the other accompanied by a question mark.

The corners of Charles’ mouth draw up, heat rising to his face as he realises what Erik is asking- whether Charles has a partner or not. It’s entirely possible that Erik is asking purely out of curiosity, but Charles can’t help but feel flattered and rather pleased by Erik’s inquisition.

“Um, no. I’m single”, Charles says coyly, looking up at Erik through lowered eyelashes.

Erik grins- an impossibly wide smile that is somehow both equally menacing and alluring, one that sets something aflutter within Charles’ chest that feels like fireflies warming everything they touch.

“Ich bin auch Single”, Erik replies. “Also, wer wartet dann auf dich zuhause? Deine Familie?”

“Family? Yes- my sister”.

Erik frowns slightly, before he uses the pen to draw a total of four stick figures- two large, a stickman and stickwoman, and the same thing again just smaller. With the pen Erik points to each one in turn, saying: “Vater, Mutter, Bruder, Schwester”.

“Oh, yes, um- ‘Schwester’, I think- my sister”, Charles says, hoping he has understood correctly.

“Ah, du hast eine Schwester. Wie ist ihr Name?”

“Her name? It’s Raven”.

“Raven… Und ist sie auch eine Mutantin?”

Charles nods. “Yes, she’s a… um…” Charles trails off, wondering how the hell he is supposed to communicate the word ‘shapeshifter’.

“Ist sie ein Telepath wie du?” Erik asks, tapping his index finger against his temple.

“No”, Charles replies, shaking his head. “Um, shapeshifter? Does that mean anything to you?”

Erik’s eyes widen, almost like he is impressed. “Ein Shapeshifter? Ihr seid wirklich eine talentierte Familie…”

Charles smiles gratefully, happy that Erik seems to have understood. It’s frustrating, really- Charles would like nothing more than to tell Erik about Raven, particularly as Erik seems fascinated rather than appalled by mutations- something that Charles didn’t expect in the least. The fact that Erik hasn’t acted surprised or horrified by what Charles has disclosed suggests that he is well aware of the existence of mutants, but if that’s the case then why is he so accepting of them, particularly when he lives so close to an institution that imprisons and experiments on their kind? There are so many unanswered questions and Charles is beyond curious, but with a language barrier in place he has no way to ask them.

In reality, the best possible scenario would be if Charles were able to stay with Erik until the drug in his system wears off and he can use his telepathy to communicate, something he understands will take another four days. The only question is- how is Charles supposed to broach that subject with Erik?

There are a few more fumbled exchanges with Erik during which Charles (presumably successfully) discloses that he hasn’t been home in two years, before Charles finds himself looking around the room for something he can point to in order to ask how far it is to the nearest town. Evidently Erik recognises Charles’ distraction, as he raises his eyebrows and asks: “Was?”

“Um, home. _Heim_. I’m sure I’ve taken advantage long enough, and I should probably go…”

“Du willst gehen?” Evidently German can only get him so far, as Erik adds: “ _Go_?”

Feeling like he has got an answer, Charles nods. “Thank you ever so much for your hospitality, but I’m afraid I’ve imposed enough”. After Charles has finished speaking he stands up from the table, beginning to move past Erik as he plans to head back into the bedroom to redress in the guard’s uniform, but Erik reaches out a hand to stop him.

“Nein, Charles- das ist zu gefährlich. Bleib bei mir. Bitte”.

Erik’s grip on Charles’ arm is firm, and though Charles cannot completely discern the meaning in his words the intent is clear. _Stay._

 

And so, Charles stays.

In truth, Charles never really wanted to leave, but even though Erik has been more than gracious so far Charles was still hesitant to presume too much. Now though there is confirmation- Erik seems happy to give Charles a place to shelter, and considering Charles still hasn’t fully recovered from his ordeal and the fact that the weather outside continues to be inclement, it’s a relief to know that Charles doesn’t have to go anywhere. The only regret Charles has is that he has no way of contacting home, as he would at least like to speak to Raven and to let her know that he’s still alive.

But although thoughts of Raven still linger, for now Charles knows he cannot do anything so dwelling would be pointless. Fortunately, Erik provides welcome distraction from idle daydreams. After being seemingly assured that Charles isn’t going anywhere, Erik leads Charles through the bedroom and into the bathroom, saying something in German that presumably is a suggestion that Charles should take a shower. Charles gratefully agrees, and he spends the next half an hour under the hot stream of water, feeling some of the tension leave his body like it is slowly seaping from his skin and slipping down the shower drain. Afterwards Charles wraps a cosy towel around himself and cautiously opens the door, feeling immediately appreciative when he realises two things- that Erik has vacated the room to give Charles some privacy, and that he has left behind a small folded pile of clothes for Charles to wear.

Charles smiles as he wanders over to the bed, pausing to smooth one hand over the soft material of the grey jumper that Erik has thoughtfully provided, one that Charles can already tell will be too big for him. Nevertheless he dresses eagerly in Erik’s clothes, before wandering back out into the living area to join him.

Erik is sitting on the sofa reading a book, and when Charles re-enters he looks up from the text, and pauses, and stares. And then, slowly, the corners of his mouth begin to draw up into a warm smile, one that instantly makes Charles’ stomach do an unexpected kind of flip, like everything inside of himself has been turned upside down.

“Charles… Du siehst so entzückend aus. Du machst es schwer für mich dich nicht zu küssen”.

Without his telepathy, and having little comprehension of what Erik is saying, Charles should be completely lost when it comes to understanding Erik’s words, but nevertheless Charles is sure he can sense the meaning in them. It feels like warmth, like affection, almost like Erik is _flirting_ with him, and Charles knows that the sentiment is not something pointless and one-sided. The flush Charles can feel heating the skin of his neck hints at reciprocal attraction- that and the stir of interest within his groin- but it’s a complication Charles doesn’t need right now, one that could ultimately end up being a very dangerous kind of distraction.

Charles looks away, tugging nervously at the sleeves of his too-long jumper and chewing on his lower lip, thinking about how ridiculous it is that, of all the people who could have saved him, it has to be a ridiculously handsome German stranger whose very voice makes Charles’ knees feel weak. But this is the situation Charles is faced with and he cannot run from it, and so he steadies himself and tentatively looks up to meet Erik’s eyes once more.

Erik’s expression, whilst playful before, is now pensive and considered, and Charles can practically _feel_ him thinking. But whatever Erik is pondering is kept to himself, and instead he stands up from the sofa and wanders over to Charles.

“Bitte fühl dich wie zuhause”, Erik says, gesturing around the room they’re standing in. “Ich bin in ein paar Minuten zurück”. He mimics the action of washing, and Charles smiles and nods, assuming that Erik is saying that he’s going to have a shower as well.

After Erik disappears into the bedroom Charles takes a moment to look around the living room, noting the minimal amount of clutter in the room that suggests either Erik cannot afford to own very much or that he is a naturally minimalist person. There are a few small trinkets here and there, the vast majority of which appear to be metal, but no personal effects like photographs. Charles has already concluded that Erik lives alone and that there aren’t any neighbours in the near vicinity, but still Charles would have thought that there would be at least _someone_ in Erik’s life which he holds dear. If there is, there’s no evidence of them, and Charles cannot help but wonder why.

Making a mental note to try to ask Erik about his family later, Charles continues to look around the modest living area. Charles has always had a great love of reading, and so he spends a long time skimming over the spines of dozens of books located on the shelving next to the sofa. Naturally the volumes are all in German, but Charles is pleased to see that he at least recognises some of the titles and covers, giving him some hope that maybe they could provide some sort of translating assistance when it comes to communicating with Erik. In the meantime though Charles is content to just select a few books to peruse later, which he places on a side table for safekeeping.

Erik is still in the bathroom so Charles explores further- wandering over to a large window at the side of the room and peering through the blinds to gaze at the wintery scene outside. It’s not snowing quite as ferociously as it was yesterday but the weather is still harsh and unforgiving, the snow like a dense blanket upon the ground, and Charles is once again grateful for the fact that Erik has provided him with somewhere to wait out the worst of it. After a moment Charles tears his eyes away from the window, and finds himself distracted by the only door in the room he hasn’t opened- one that is located just behind the dining table.

Charles reaches for the door, but just as his fingers close around the handle he jumps as someone grasps hold of his wrist. When he turns to the side Erik is looking down at him, looking unfairly gorgeous in a long-sleeved shirt that is unbuttoned just enough to give Charles a glimpse of Erik’s collarbone. The desire for Charles to press his mouth to that exposed patch of skin flits across his mind like a dandelion in the breeze, but Charles tells himself that it’s winter, and there is no time for the fanciful thoughts of spring just yet.

“Alles gut?” Erik murmurs, stroking his thumb gently against Charles’ wrist. It’s like the motion of the digit against Charles’ pulse point is the very thing that ramps up Charles’ heartrate, making him feel shaky and weak and wanton.

Charles nods. “Yes, um- _gut_ ”.

“Gut…” Erik grins. “Komm mit?” The hand on Charles’ wrist pulls gently and Charles follows, like it was never a question in the first place.

 

After the bumbling nature of their earlier conversation there is a part of Charles that wonders if spending the rest of the day with Erik might turn out to be awkward, especially as there appears to be no television or similar entertainment to occupy their time. Charles joins Erik on the sofa and they sit and smile politely at each other and attempt to talk, until Charles remembers the books he saw earlier and begins to use them to aid with their communication. It’s not very successful, and in a moment of defeat Charles sighs quietly and slumps back against the sofa, mentally cursing himself for favouring the sciences over language subjects at school. But then, across the room hidden beneath a stack of papers, Charles sees something that he feels could provide a very welcome way to pass the time.

“Do you play chess?” Charles asks hopefully, being met by a blank look that prompts him to get up from the sofa and wander across the room, carefully extracting the boxed chess set from its hiding place and holding it up to Erik.

“Oh, Schach? Ja, ich spiele Schach”, Erik says as Charles smiles victoriously in response.

They set up a game in the bedroom, each sitting on armchairs in front of the fire with the chess set on a small table between them. Thanks to Erik providing some especially delicious hot chocolate Charles is cosy and content as he plays, sitting cross-legged on the chair as he considers his moves and leans forward to make them.

It’s a fairly even match, much to Charles’ delight, and language provides no barrier as they easily work their way through three games- two of which are won by Charles and one by Erik. Charles is just plotting how to secure victory in their fourth match when he is distracted by Erik speaking.

“Du bist süß, wenn du dich konzentrierst…”

Charles looks up to find Erik watching him, the expression on Erik’s face not one of someone concerned with winning a game of chess, but more like someone engaged in a seduction. There is the tell-tale hint of smile in the corners of Erik’s mouth and a sparkle in his iridescent eyes, and Charles can’t help but wonder how much of what Erik is saying is being disclosed purely because he knows Charles can’t understand him.

“It’s really not fair how gorgeous you are…” Charles says quietly in response. “This would all be so much easier if you looked like a troll rather than a Greek god”.

Erik’s smile slips. “Du findest, dass ich ein Troll bin?”

“Um, wait…” Charles starts, feeling like he might have offended Erik in some way, and cursing his luck that ‘troll’ happens to be the word that’s apparently the same in both languages. “Bloody hell. I’m not calling you a troll, I swear. As a matter of fact I think… I think…” Charles sighs, closing his eyes shaking his head as he finishes: “Quite frankly, Erik, I think you’re perfect”.

When Charles reopens his eyes Erik is watching, as he always seems to be, but to Charles’ relief he no longer seems annoyed- if anything his expression is one of amusement.

“Perfekt…” Erik murmurs, the word rolling nicely off his tongue. The way Erik’s mouth moves prompts Charles to imagine for a moment all the other things Erik could say, perhaps whispered into Charles’ ear, hushed and desperate and accompanied by hands trailing over Charles’ body marking the intent of his utterances. It’s been a long time since Charles has been spoken to softly by anyone, touched by _anyone_ , and the arousal pooling deep within the pit of his stomach is so potent for a moment it makes him breathless, like the air within his lungs has been snatched and is incapable of sating him. Images of Erik surge unbidden, and Charles wonders if he is as divinely muscled under that shirt as Charles imagines he is, and how those callous worker’s hands might feel brushing against the soft skin of Charles’ thighs…

“Ich finde dich perfekt”, Erik says quietly.

For a brief, lightheaded moment, Charles wishes he knew the German for ‘kiss me’. But then there is a harsh banging on the door, and all thoughts of filthy Germans and their potentially trouser-ruining words are forcibly pushed from mind.

Charles reels in his chair, jerking to look over to the front door- visible from where they are sitting in the bedroom- and feeling a cold dread spread quickly through his body as he registers someone standing outside, just discernible through the small panel of frosted glass. There is another demanding knock on the door accompanied by a voice shouting: “Öffnet die Tür! Das ist ein Befehl von Oberst Stryker! Ihr habt zehn Sekunden”.

Fear bleeds through Charles’ heart like black tar, seeping into his bloodstream and making him slow and sluggish. He knows he needs to run, that his best chance of escape is to climb out of the nearest window and flee into the immense flurry of snow outside, hoping not to be seen, but he feels as frozen as the weather is. He’s scared, _really scared_ ; terrified of ending up back in the complex again and knowing that, truly, he would rather die than go back there. But he’s not going to give up without a fight, and after drawing in one deep, juddering breath Charles begins to get up from the armchair.

Before Charles is fully upright, a hand seizes him under the arm.

“Versteck dich im Badezimmer, mach keinen Laut”.

Erik’s words are hushed yet forceful, demanding Charles’ obedience even when they are not understood. Charles stares up at him, feeling like this is it- that Erik is about to drag him outside and hand him off the waiting guards, that every courtesy Erik has shown Charles so far has been little more than a charade; a way to keep Charles in one place until they came for him. The betrayal Charles feels is so painful it almost chokes him, and he glares up at Erik as he begins to attempt to pull out of Erik’s grasp, knowing that he is no match for Erik’s strength but needing to try anyway.

“Charles, bitte”, Erik urges through gritted teeth, his grip on Charles’ arm tightening as he pulls Charles closer, as Charles whines and riles, wishing he knew how to beg for mercy in German but also knowing that he’d hate himself if he tried. When Charles refuses to comply all attempts at coaxing him seem to go firmly out the window, and Erik yanks Charles forcibly, beginning to pull him… _Oh_.

Erik doesn’t drag Charles outside, like Charles expected, instead he pulls him towards the bathroom at the back of the room, opening the door and pushing Charles inside ahead of himself. Once Charles is stood within the small space Erik seizes him on both arms, squeezing Charles’ biceps firmly as he gazes down at him.

“Charles, bitte sei leise”, Erik says, before lifting one finger to his lips, the gesture finally making his intentions clear. Erik isn’t giving Charles up to the guards, like Charles thought he was. He’s _protecting_ him.

The knowledge prompts a feeling of guilt within Charles for what he’d assumed, but before he can get out the words to apologise Erik is stepping away and closing the door, and Charles can do nothing else but wait, and listen.

Charles tracks Erik’s footsteps across the wooden floor of the bedroom, before there is the sound of a door closing and the footsteps grow fainter. Within his chest Charles’ heart is pounding so loudly it’s like he can hear it over the banging once again coming from outside, a noise that is accompanied by more German words that Charles presumes are a directive for Erik to open the door. Then Erik’s voice cuts through the din and everything falls silent for a moment, before there is a definitive creaking sound that tells Charles they are no longer alone.

It’s hard for Charles to hear the exchange that follows, and the tones of voice give him little to go on as, to Charles, almost everything in German seems harsh and uncompromising. Charles stands in the bathroom, shaking as badly as he did on the night Erik found him, arms wrapped defensively around himself as he strains to hear what is happening. It feels like at any moment Charles will be discovered, that he will hear the sound of footsteps and then the guards will break in and take Charles from this place, they will beat him and hurt him, drag him to the complex for him to be experimented on and abused for endless years, shut him away from daylight, away from life, until he begs for death to relieve him of his suffering. The experience of hiding like this is grimly familiar. Charles remembers being a child and cowering in darkened closets, hearing footsteps pass by and wondering if it’s his stepbrother coming to beat him or his stepfather seeking him out as an unwilling test subject once more. On those occasions Charles would close his eyes and count to one hundred, hoping that each number would give him strength, that each one counted would prepare him for the pain that was to come.

When Charles reaches eighty-nine, the door opens.

Charles immediately flinches, hands going up and balling into fists in a meagre attempt to defend himself, made all the more pathetic by the way the too-long sleeves of his jumper flop over his clenched fists. Erik is there, looking at Charles with a mixture of sympathy and concern, his mouth set in a grim line, like he has just stumbled upon something unpleasant.

“Charles…” Erik murmurs softly, as meanwhile Charles simply stares blankly at Erik, knowing that he is trembling, and hating it.

It is with clear caution that Erik steps forward, like he is approaching a wounded animal that he fears will either flee or fight him. Charles’ fists remain up as Erik slowly wraps his arms around Charles’ shoulders, pulling him closer, and Charles is very much the stoic statue as he is bundled against Erik’s chest, albeit one that is made of weaker things and that whimpers as Erik nudges his face against Charles’ forehead.

“Es ist okay, Charles…” Erik whispers, his breath warm against Charles’ face. “Ich werde nicht zulassen, dass dir jemand weh tut, das verspreche ich dir”.

Charles lets out a helpless sob, gratefully muffled against Erik’s chest, recognising the implicit intent in what Erik is saying. Erik is telling Charles he is safe, more so than Charles has been in years, and in some strange illogical way Charles almost feels safer than he has ever been in his entire life. The fists that Charles is still making relax, become palms splayed against Erik’s broad chest, and within his heart Charles feels hope for the first time in years, hope that there are good men in a world that otherwise seems so cold.

 

Charles remains wilfully captive in Erik’s arms for longer than he’d like to admit, hoping that the slight dampness on his cheeks will dry before Erik releases his hold. He’s not quite so fortunate in that regard, and as Erik slowly loosens his grip he reaches to draw the pad of one thumb slowly across Charles’ cheekbone, wiping away the wetness there that fills Charles with shame.

They don’t speak much for the rest of the day. Charles is quiet and lost in thought that he doesn’t want to share, that he couldn’t even if he tried, and so he sits quietly in one of the armchairs in front of the fire, knees drawn up to his chest whilst meanwhile music from the radio filters gently through the air, filling Charles’ head with yet more words that he cannot understand. Erik stays with Charles, sitting quietly for the most part but eventually retrieving a book to read, but always remaining close by. The only time Erik ventures elsewhere is when he goes outside to chop up wood for the fire, leaving Charles feeling quietly panicked until his return.

Lunch and dinner provide Charles with sustenance, but his appetite is stilted and he mainly pushes the food around his plate until Erik gently nudges him to eat something. Erik talks during both meals, clearly knowing that Charles cannot understand him but seemingly needing to offer up some semblance of conversation anyway, even if it is woefully one-sided. Fortunately though Charles finds Erik’s voice to be rather comforting, even if the words are indecipherable, and sometime during dinner Charles finds that he even manages a small smile.

After the plates have been cleared away they once again play chess, something that provides Charles with welcome distraction from the thoughts plaguing his mind. It’s fascinating to play chess with Erik, as it seems to Charles like the game gives them a chance to communicate without words- more said with a raised eyebrow and a wry smile than they have managed with speech so far. Part of Charles feels like he would be content to just play chess with Erik forever, an endless run of games where they each lose track of the score and play just for the pure pleasure of it, but eventually fatigue sets in and Charles knows he needs to rest.

It’s almost embarrassing how much Charles wants to call to Erik as he goes, to cling onto him and ask him to stay for the night, to continue to keep Charles safe. As it is, Charles swallows down his desperation and bids Erik a simple “Good night”; being met with an equally brief “Schlaf gut” in return before Erik closes the door, leaving Charles alone.

Alone is not what Charles wants to be. As he lies in bed he watches the shadows of tree branches stretching across the ceiling, seeming like long claws that reach for Charles in the night. As he sleeps, those branches become gloved hands that hold Charles down, that place needles in his skin and pin electrodes to his temples, that activate machinery that makes blood form in his mouth and tears stream from his eyes. Exhaustion saved him from his dreams last night but now they return in force; the painful memory of hundreds of days and nights in captivity, of two years of suffering.

When Charles wakes he is shaking, breath coming out harsh and fast, nightshirt sticking to clammy skin and bedsheets tangled around his feet. When he wakes, Charles knows he wants to be soothed, wants to be held, wants to feel safe again, but also knows that he will never truly feel safe unless he can learn to control his own fears. And so, he rolls over in bed, presses his face into a pillow that smells of someone familiar and comforting, and closes his eyes once more.


	3. Nacht Drei

 

 

After only a short while it’s surprising how much the sights before Charles’ waking eyes soon appear fond and familiar- almost homely in their simplicity, and commonplace.

When Charles wakes, albeit rather more groggily than the previous night given his dreams have been plagued by nightmares, there is a steaming hot cup of tea on the bedside table, and Charles can’t help but wonder how deeply he must sleep for him not to have woken when Erik delivered it. He can only hope that he hasn’t been thrashing or crying out in his sleep during any of the times Erik has ventured into the bedroom, though Erik seems like he’d be too polite to say anything anyway.

Charles remains in bed sipping at the tea for a short while, and after the first few mouthfuls have somewhat revived him he ventures outside the bedroom, being immediately greeted by the welcome sight of Erik making breakfast in the kitchen just like he did the previous morning. As Erik cooks Charles sits at the table and waits, skim-reading a book and attempting to make sense of the foreign words, using things he has heard Erik say to help him. It’s achingly domestic- something Charles hasn’t experienced, well- _ever_. There were no cosy family breakfasts during Charles’ childhood, and though Charles has spent many mornings with Raven he has never been a very good cook and consequently they have always favoured dining out. Clinically prepared meals are a poor substitute for effort and affection, and Charles can’t help but feel a small pang of regret for the fact that he knows this kind of peace can’t last.

After breakfast they play chess for some time, hours that pass pleasantly as they sit in comfortable silence punctuated by the occasional eyebrow raise or victorious smile after a game is won. There are a few words exchanged here or there but it could hardly be considered conversation, particularly when neither party understands the other especially well. Still, it’s nice- after years of a routine so unpleasant and so hopeless that Charles often felt like there was no way out, it’s enjoyable to just sit quietly, enjoying Erik’s company. Of course, it helps that Erik’s company is considerably appealing to behold…

There are moments, here and there, where Erik will say something or give Charles a certain look and it’s like they are perhaps two strangers out on a date, rather than whatever they actually are. And though he feels like he shouldn’t Charles finds himself responding, as if the attraction he feels governs his actions more than his sense of logic does, as if his heart is beating out a rhythm and he is a slave to the sound. It’s been so long since Charles has experienced any kind of intimate contact with anyone, even something so gentle as the kind of mild flirting he and Erik appear to be engaged in, and it would be tempting to just give into it completely and allow action to say what words cannot. But such complacency could be dangerous, Charles knows that, and later in the day he is reminded of the fact.

 

It is just after lunchtime, and Charles is sitting on the sofa in the living room, waiting nervously for Erik to return from where he is chopping up logs for the fire- the status of his activity confirmed by the steady sound of metal impacting wood coming from outside the cabin. Although Charles knows it’s faintly ridiculous, there is a low buzz of anxiety running through him as he sits sideways on the sofa, a book laid open in his lap that he is no longer paying attention to. After such a short time it’s remarkable how much Charles has already come to rely on Erik- for safety, for security, and even just for general companionship and comfort. Though Charles knows he is perfectly safe in the cabin and that Erik will return soon, he can’t help but think of the complex nearby and the guards who are most likely out looking for him, and what they will do if they find him…

Charles draws in a deep steadying breath and closes his eyes, telling himself to relax, telling himself to be calm. Nearby the radio is giving out low sound; some tuneful aria that sounds like the lament of lost lovers from what Charles can discern of its German lyrics. As Charles listens he remembers yesterday morning, remembers the soulful sound of Erik’s voice as he sang softly in the kitchen before he realised Charles was there, and imagines for a moment what it would be like to hear Erik sing again- something with more meaning than before, something for Charles’ ears only. But then Charles hears another sound above the hum of the radio, and his eyes snap open in an instant.

Instantly Charles’ gaze falls upon the door across the room, the one that Erik pulled him away from yesterday, the one that leads to the only room that Charles hasn’t entered so far. Though that same feeling of apprehension still remains Charles stands and begins to walk towards the sound, knowing inherently that it does not represent something to fear, rather that it signals something in need of help. Charles is not the type of person to leave anyone, or anything, unaided, and so once he reaches the door he doesn’t hesitate before grasping the door handle and opening, being immediately greeted by an even louder sound of squawking…

The room inside seems to be some sort of office- a small, organised space stacked with books and files with a large desk as the centrepiece of the room, on top of which is sitting a large white bird… The window at the back of the room has been left partially open, and it seems that the hapless creature has accidentally flown in and now appears to be making itself at home in a nest of paperwork, much to Charles’ amusement.

“Come on, let’s get you back outside…” Charles says with a grin, stepping over towards the desk.

It’s like a reminder of life, that ridiculous cawing sound- confirmation to Charles that not everything outside of the prison is cold and dead. The bird squawks louder as Charles’ approaches, flapping its wings in agitation, and so begins a battle to seize hold of the creature and get it over to the window to release it- a task made difficult by the fact that the bird is very animated and Charles has never had much experience with animal wrangling. Nevertheless, Charles manages it, and within a short while he’s watching as the bird flies away into the distance, slowly disappearing into stark white landscape, its caws still audible long after Charles can no longer see it.

Charles is still smiling as he turns back around, bending down to pick up some of the paperwork scattered on the floor displaced by the bird’s movements. He has no intention of looking at the files as he retrieves them, but then Charles sees something on one of the sheets sticking out- something that makes his flesh crawl with dread as he withdraws the paper with shaky hands, holding it up for inspection.

Over the time Charles spent imprisoned, there are certain things he recognises without question. Names of prisoners. Numbers of guards. Locations. Types of ‘treatments’. And all of them- _all of them_ \- are listed on the papers in Charles’ hands in small, neat typeface. For reasons that Charles cannot comprehend, Erik has details of the complex that has kept Charles imprisoned for two years. In a mixture of German and English there are hundreds of accounts of what life is like inside the building’s walls- where the prisoners are kept, what experiments they are subjected to, what happens to them whilst they are alive, what is done with their bodies when they die… There are even diagrams of the complex- drawings clearly sketched from hand that show the shapes and dimensions of each room in rough detail. It’s not what Charles ever expected to find in Erik’s home, and the discovery has him reeling.

What reason could there possibly be for Erik to have all these files stored away in a room? Why would he have names and even _pictures_ of prisoners? Charles holds one of the images in his hand- a small boy standing with what is presumably his mother and father- and realises that these are not people he recognises, meaning that, whatever intel Erik has, it clearly extends back much further than the two years Charles was imprisoned. It’s evident that Erik has been aware of the prison for some time, that he has been gathering and cataloguing information- or that he has been given it by someone else if the passages in English are anything to go by- and Charles can only speculate as to why.

Betrayal has a bitter taste. Charles stumbles back a few steps, slumping against the wall as the paperwork he’s holding falls from his hands, scattering like fresh snow upon the ground stained with deceitful black ink. Painful realisation surges and, with it, a sickening feeling of loss, causing angry tears to begin to form behind Charles’ eyes as he considers the duplicitous nature of man, and how there is no good in the world after all- not really.

All the odds stack up the wrong way, like a fortress made of ice ready to come crashing down. Erik lives near the complex. Erik found Charles in the middle of a blizzard, in spite of the unlikelihood of such a thing. Erik didn’t flinch one bit when Charles said he was a mutant. Erik has a collection of plans and pictures of the prison.

Meeting Erik has seemed so much like salvation, but what if it is really a nothing more than a trap? What if Erik is actually working for the prison- keeping Charles contained until they can decide what to do with him? Charles doesn’t want to believe it, and in so many ways it doesn’t make complete sense, but just the knowledge that Erik has been keeping any kind of secret makes Charles feel heartsick and hopeless. It’s foolhardy and naïve but Charles felt like he could trust Erik, and now that illusion has been shattered. There is no safety for Charles, maybe there never was, and if he isn’t free from danger then he knows he cannot stay anymore.

 

The cold that day is almost as bad as it was on the night when Charles escaped from the prison. Above him the sky looms, harsh and unforgiving and threatening more snow- something that Charles hopes will at least hold off until he is out of the wilderness. At one time snow was a welcome thing- a flurry of delicate flakes that he and Raven would dance amongst when they were children- but now it is nothing more than a hazard. In truth, Charles cannot remember the last time when he was able to enjoy the simple things in life without seeing the danger within.

As Charles trudges through the snow he wraps his arms around himself, mostly for warmth but also as a defence against the other things that could hurt him. It feels like Charles’ heart has been left open against the elements and now it is aching- a constant, painful reminder of Erik’s betrayal. But though Charles shakes, though tears slide down his cheeks only to crystallise before they fall to the ground, Charles keeps moving. Thoughts of Raven light a fire that burns within his chest, spurring him on and making him put one foot in front of the other as he crosses the frozen wasteland before himself, hoping for salvation.

There is no way of keeping track of the time so Charles has little comprehension of how long he walks for, how many minutes pass before that first tell-tale flake of snow lands neatly on the tip of his nose, heralding the oncoming storm. At first the flurries are slow and sparse but then the intensity of the snowfall increases, accompanied by a dense mist that obscures Charles’ vision and makes it hard for him to see more than a few feet in front of himself. But as Charles stumbles forward he does see something- a tall structure that it takes Charles a few moments to realise is some sort of transmission pole- a large, metal tower that stretches up into the sky to be swallowed by the thick smog. The sight gives Charles hope- that he can perhaps follow the powerlines to the nearest town and seek help there- but before he can take another step there is a blinding light shining in Charles’ eyes, and words that prompt a cold stab of dread within his heart.

The voice that speaks out is German, but it is not a welcome sound nor one that fills Charles with any kind of fondness. At the call of “HALT!” Charles freezes, breath catching in his throat and heart pounding as the light shifts and moves closer, forcing Charles to squint and hold a hand up to his face as he tries to see, and then wishes he hadn’t.

“Please…” Charles says quietly, holding up both hands and beginning to back away. By now Charles is grimly familiar with the uniform that the guards wear- he has seen it in his waking hours and his nightmares more than once- but deep down Charles maintains hope that it is just a uniform, and that there is a decent person inside. “Please, don’t--"

Words have always been Charles’ weapon, in spite of the considerable strength afforded by his mutation, but in this instance they fall on deaf ears- cowed by harsh German shouting that Charles perceives the meaning of regardless of the language barrier. The words request obedience, the gun held within the guard’s hands demands it.

Though Charles knows he should stop, though he knows all too well the price to pay for disobedience, he continues to back away. The guard’s shouts grow louder, words ringing in Charles’ ears. Within his chest Charles’ lungs feel tight, like they are compressed under some monstrous weight, like his whole body has been held down to drown. Charles shuts his eyes and sees visions of the prison, of the life he left behind, of the horrors he’d hoped to be free of, and knows he cannot go back there- not ever.

Everything after that feels like it happens very slowly. Charles turns and runs, as much as is possible when trudging through deep snow, and tries to ignore the yelling of the guard just audible over the sound of blood pounding within his own ears. His limbs feel heavy and cumbersome as he forges forward, cold air burning in his throat as he draws in ragged breaths, desperate to escape. But deep down Charles knows it’s futile, and when he hears the deadly sound of the gun going off he knows his time is up.

Charles feels a searing pain shoot across his back, but it’s not a blinding obliterating agony like he presumed a gunshot wound might be, it’s something sharp and stinging. He falls forward into the snow, the icy impact knocking the wind out of him before he starts to roll over and sit up, and the sight before himself makes his breath catch short.

There is low creaking sound reverberating through the air, a sound of twisting metal that seems cacophonous in the wintery wasteland. Charles watches in disbelief as before him the transmission pole falls down, a sight made all the more surreal by the way the metal tower seems to come to life as it crashes to the ground; long slivers of molten alloy reaching out and wrapping around the prison guard, pinning him in place. The man is already restrained- thin metal wires bound tightly around this arms and legs- but as the tower continues to shift thicker coils of metal wind around the guard’s neck, taking hold, squeezing tight, ending life.

“No!” Charles cries out. He cannot help it. Though he knows the guard’s demise might ultimately prevent his own, the very nature of Charles’ soul means he cannot condone such a thing, and as the guard lets out one last, muffled, agonising shout Charles slumps back into the snow, heartsick and heavy, staring up at the sky.

There is a noise of footsteps trudging through the snow from behind where Charles is lying, and when Charles sees him the words come out as if involuntary.

“Erik…”

Because Erik is here, Erik has saved Charles, and though Charles knows he should be more sensible he can’t help the sudden rush of joy he feels at the sight of him, or how much safer he instantly feels.

“Erik…”

Because Erik is dropping down into the snow and leaning over Charles, and at the first touch of his hand to Charles’ face Charles wants nothing more than to curl up in Erik’s arms, even though at the same time he wants nothing more than to be as far away from him as possible.

“Erik…”

Because Erik is a mutant, and he never said anything- not once. The tower didn’t fall, Charles knows that now, it moved as if compelled, as if someone very powerful was bending it to their will, and even now Charles can see it- the wires shifting like a nest of vipers, coiling back into place as Erik turns towards them with one hand outstretched. As the transmission pole reforms the guard’s body slumps from its grasp and Charles closes his eyes against the sight, as if his very eyelids can save him from the horror, and feels rather than sees Erik move closer.

“Charles… Bist du verletzt?” Erik’s hand gently cups Charles’ face, warm and reassuring. “Schau mich an, Charles- bitte. Warum bist du gegangen… Ich wusste, dass es gefährlich ist. Das ist alles meine Schuld…”

Charles slowly opens his eyes, and the look of concern he sees on Erik’s face is so sincere and so touching that, now more than ever, Charles knows for certain that Erik would never hurt him. But what Charles hadn’t realised is the lengths Erik is clearly willing to go to in order to prevent _anyone else_ from causing him harm; a newly acquired knowledge that causes a large lump to form in Charles’ throat, almost like there is something unpleasant now within him that he cannot swallow down.

 

The feeling still lingers some time later as Charles sits in the bath inside Erik’s cabin, the water around him warm but static, all of the bubbles long since dissipated like tiny lights going out. Erik has been gone for some time, and the knowledge of what he is doing makes the uneasy feeling within Charles worsen, like it is a rising tide of sickness creeping up his throat, ready to spill over. Though Charles cannot understand German, he knows what Erik meant when he spoke earlier- when he had finished running Charles a bath and he stood before him, stoic and solemn. He knows that Erik has gone to dispose of the guard’s body before it can be found.

Charles shudders at the thought of what his freedom has cost. It prompts an icy chill to run down his spine as he considers the guard’s death, feeling guilty for more reasons than one. The loss of human life is disconcerting, but what makes Charles feel worse is the way he feels relieved at the same time, satisfied- like some small justice has been served. It’s disturbing to consider how much his time in the prison has changed him; made him into something colder, darker, harsher, and he wonders if Raven will even recognise him when or perhaps _if_ he comes home.

When Erik returns Charles is still sitting there, quiet and motionless, resigned and sad. Erik knocks gently at the door and says something which presumably means “Can I come in?” When Charles doesn’t answer, Erik enters anyway, and Charles is so despondent he doesn’t even have it in him to be concerned about the fact that he is naked, so he says nothing to stop Erik’s incursion.

Charles is staring down the placid water in the bath, at the translucent liquid that is filmy and tinged with pink, so he doesn’t see the expression on Erik’s face when he walks in and finds that Charles hasn’t moved in the past half hour or more. Part of Charles wonders if Erik will just leave, if he will take one look at the sorry spectacle before himself and deign to let Charles stay and wallow in his own misery, but he doesn’t. Instead, Erik kneels down on the floor next to bath, placing the pile of folded clothes and the med kit that he is holding on the closed toilet seat next to himself.

“Charles… Geht es dir gut?”

Charles knows ‘gut’ by now, but it’s the least of how he feels. He closes his eyes and bites hard on his lower lip, trying to contain the desperate sob that is close to breaking through as Erik reaches over and draws one hand gently through Charles’ hair, pushing the damp locks back from his forehead. Erik is so close now, Charles can feel him there- the scent of his skin that Charles wants, in spite of himself, to lean into, to press himself against so he can feel safe and warm, like there is no world outside these four walls, no world outside of Erik’s arms. But for now Charles remains where he is, still and compliant as Erik’s hand moves, palm sliding slowly over Charles’ shoulder and down his back.

When Erik’s fingers trace the top of Charles’ spine Charles flinches, knowing without seeing what is there. He remembers the sharp pain he felt when the tower came down, something he initially thought was a bullet wound but now realises is more likely the result of one of the metal wires striking him in all the chaos, whipping across his skin and drawing blood, if the pinkish tinge of the water is anything to go by. Charles hasn’t inspected the wound himself, so it is up to Erik to slowly nudge Charles into leaning forward, giving Erik access so that he can press his fingertips gently against the tender skin.

“Es tut mir leid…” Erik murmurs as Charles hisses out a sharp breath in response to the pain, a discomfort that competes with the admittedly soothing feeling of Erik’s fingers drawing across his skin. The conflicting responses continue as Erik selects a cotton pad and a bottle of antiseptic from the med kit, using them to carefully clean Charles’ wound with one hand whilst Erik places the other flat against Charles’ chest, presumably to steady him.

It’s not just steadying though, it’s spellbinding. Erik’s thumb rubs gently against Charles’ collarbone, a simple touch that has tremors running through Charles’ body like molecules of metal responding to magnetism. Life in the prison was lonely, clinical, and it has been so long since Charles has been touched by anyone, held by anyone, and he can’t help the way his body aches longingly in response, or the way a small moan escapes his lips. Of course, with his eyes shut tight and his mind distracted Charles has no idea just _how much_ his body is crying out for the attention, not until Erik’s hand travels lower, palm sliding down Charles’ chest and stomach, before taking hold…

Charles gasps, eyes snapping open and both hands flying to seize hold of Erik’s wrist, holding Erik’s arm but not pushing him away or pulling him closer, just keeping him there. Erik’s face is flushed, his mouth slightly parted, his eyes wide and full of expression- both questioning and hopeful. His hand remains motionless where it is wrapped around Charles’ hard cock as Charles’ loud breathing seems to fill the quiet room, like there is nothing in the universe but this moment, and how Charles chooses to respond to it.

The only problem is, Charles doesn’t know how to react. It’s a confounding, confusing situation- on the one hand Charles wants this, needs this, can think of nothing better than the majesty of Erik’s hands upon his body, taking him over. On the other, Charles is scared- of the situation he is in, of what may happen in the future- everything. But perhaps that’s why Charles needs this. To _feel_ , not to think. To find release.

It’s almost involuntary the way Charles’ hips move, rocking once into Erik’s firm grasp as a heady groan escapes his lips, growing deeper as Erik’s thumb swipes over the sensitive head of Charles’ cock, making him hold onto Erik’s wrist more desperately.

“Lass mich das für dich tun…” Erik murmurs, eyes half-lidded and dark with arousal. Charles can see the hard length of Erik’s own member pushing against the confines of his trousers, but Erik doesn’t reach for it in an attempt to pursue his own pleasure he simply remains focused on Charles’ needs. In some ways, it seems like that is what Erik has always done.

Perhaps that is the reason for Charles to trust, to give himself to Erik and allow Erik to touch him, to let go of his hold on Erik’s arm and lie back against the rear of the bath, eyes closed as Erik begins to stroke Charles’ cock more firmly, causing little spasms of pleasure to run through Charles’ body. And so, Charles does exactly that. He reclines against the bathtub, head lolling to the side and eyes sliding shut at the sight of Erik’s face- wanton and focused, like there is nothing else he wants in the world but this. Erik’s hand moves slowly on Charles’ cock, leisurely, like this is something to be savoured. His other hand comes to gently cup Charles’ face, like it is a treasure to be behold. And Charles feels himself fall, all things given to Erik, all that he is made gift in expectation of something he hasn’t had in years- the comfort of a kind touch.

There is a small part of Charles that feels like maybe he should be embarrassed at how quickly he comes, at how it only takes a short time for him to be gasping and moaning, hips stuttering into Erik’s hand as his stomach muscles tighten and he shudders through his orgasm, the bath water soon becoming cloudy with his expended seed. Erik holds him through it, one hand gently carding through Charles’ hair, the other one still pulling at Charles’ cock, drawing wave after wave of pleasure out of him until he is so sensitive it is almost uncomfortable. Only then does Erik stop stroking, but he cups his hand protectively over Charles’ cock as Charles whimpers, waiting for Charles to relax and calm down.

The thing is, Charles is already calm. The last several minutes with Erik have been bliss- they have taken Charles away from the memories of the complex, from the distance between himself and his home, from the feeling of being hunted. Charles almost doesn’t want to open his eyes now, because to do so would be like shattering the symbiosis- bringing Charles back to reality and making him acknowledge the fact that he still doesn’t know what is going on, that he still doesn’t understand why Erik didn’t reveal the fact that he is a mutant, or that he has been keeping tabs on the prison. Questions are already surging, begging for attention, and for answers. But Charles is tired, more tired than he has been since he left the complex, and for now he just wants to stay inside the cabin where he is safe and warm, and forget.

 

For the rest of the day Charles is quiet. Immediately after their encounter in the bathroom Erik leans over to place one, simple kiss to Charles’ forehead, something unexpected that prompts Charles’ eyes to immediately fly open as he finds Erik’s face just inches away from his own. There is uncertainty in Erik’s eyes, and Charles doesn’t need to be a mind reader to know that Erik is worried- that he so desperately wants confirmation from Charles that what just happened _means something_ , that it represents hope for the future, perhaps _their_ future. But Charles has no answers, not for himself or for anyone else, and so he draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around himself, turning away in shame.

After a moment, Erik gets the hint. There is a long, low sigh from his lips before he stands, tapping his fingers against the pile of clothing he brought in earlier as a sign of instruction. Within a short while Erik is gone, and Charles is given the privacy he needs to withdraw from the bath and get dressed.

It’s with a certain sense of self-aware cowardice that Charles leaves the bathroom and immediately crosses the room to crawl into bed, drawing the covers up high over his head like he used to when he was a child, when even his nightmares didn’t compare to the daily reality that was his life. Charles remains there for the rest of the evening, as the fading light of day gives way to night, as Erik enters to place a cup of tea and a toasted sandwich on the bedside table- lingering for a moment before leaving. Food is the furthest thing from Charles’ mind and even the tea is oddly unappealing, and so Charles remains where he is- quiet and still, like he hopes not to be discovered.

It cannot last forever, and Charles knows eventually he will need to venture outside once more, and face Erik. But for now it seems like Erik is content to leave him be, something Charles is eternally grateful for, and so he stays beneath the covers, hoping that the darkness around him will eventually lull him into a sound sleep. It takes far too long to happen- hours that pass slowly, soundlessly- like Charles is stuck living some kind of penance; a waking nightmare that he cannot escape from. But eventually the events of the day catch up to Charles, fatigue sets in, and he sleeps at last.


	4. Nacht Vier

 

 

Though Charles has no way of discerning the time, he is sure it’s only a few hours before he wakes again, wrenching himself from dreams that feature cold, clinical rooms, expressionless faces, and screams that sound so awful and so harrowing that they always took some time for Charles to realise were coming from himself. But when Charles wakes, heart pounding and breaths coming out short and fast, it’s not some stark white room that greets him, it’s wooden beams and cosy furnishings and the smell of a fire long since burnt out. Nevertheless, the screams remain.

It takes Charles some time to place the sound, because it’s not the same piercing scream that Charles is used to hearing, it’s a low, pained, groaning noise- one that is only just audible, almost like it is coming from another room. Charles slowly sits up in bed, and the fact that the space around him is empty and still confirms the fact- Charles is alone, and the sound is coming from somewhere outside. By the time Charles has crossed the room and he is standing in front of the door that leads to the living room, he realises what the noise is, and who is making it…

It’s dark outside when Charles opens the door and begins to walks across the room, dim moonlight filtering in through the closed curtains barely illuminating the space. Regardless, Charles can see Erik. He is lying on his back on the sofa, sheets kicked down to his ankles, chest rising and falling with each frantic breath, limbs twitching as if he is fighting some unknown demon within his dreams. Except it’s not unknown, not really- Charles can see that now, and suddenly everything feels like it makes sense.

Yesterday afternoon, when Charles discovered the files and documents Erik was keeping which contained details of the prison, he found along with them a photograph. Though there were numerous sheets of paper and drawings there was only one picture- showing a small boy, standing with two people who were presumably his mother and father. The image looked old, clearly taken years ago, and at the time Charles hadn’t thought to take any notice of how familiar the boy’s eyes were, how they seemed haunted yet kind, just as they are now... Charles had heard things when he’d been held within the complex- how it had been operating for decades, how at one time it wasn’t just known mutants who were taken there, it was their entire families. And as Charles stands there, watching Erik who is still thrashing in his sleep, he finally realises the truth.

Not only is Erik a mutant, but he was held at the same prison that Charles was, many years ago.

As the knowledge sinks in Charles trembles, feeling so guilty for having judged Erik, for having doubted him. Though it still does not explain why Erik chose to withhold the fact that he is a mutant, the realisation at least reassures Charles that he has nothing to fear from Erik, though he feels rather like he has known that all along.

It’s upsetting to see Erik so distressed, and Charles wants nothing more than to go to him, to wake him, to soothe him and to comfort him. But Erik is in the grips of a nightmare, and even if Charles were to rouse him what would he even say? It’s not like he could offer Erik any words of comfort- not ones that would be understood anyway. But, at the same time, Charles cannot bear to just leave Erik when he is clearly suffering, particularly as Charles knows only too well the kind of nightmares that can linger as a result of being imprisoned in the complex. And so, Charles goes to him.

Erik is quieter when Charles reaches him, his protests a low murmur that prompt a stir of feeling within Charles’ heart as he leans over the sofa, grasping Erik’s shoulder and giving him a gentle shake. Within an instant Erik’s eyes snap open and Charles yelps as Erik seizes him harshly on the upper arms, but the hold is only maintained for a few seconds before Erik seems to realise where he is and his grip abates.

“Charles… Es tut mir leid…”  Erik says, his voice barely more than a whisper. His hands, no longer squeezing Charles’ arms, gently caress them instead, thumbs rubbing against Charles’ biceps as Charles remains leaning over the sofa, completely captivated by the tacit vulnerability in Erik’s eyes.

“Habe ich dich verletzt?” Erik asks, transferring one hand to cup Charles’ face as Charles leans closer almost subconsciously, simply lulled by the proximity of Erik and the warmth Charles can feel coming from his body. It’s cold in the cabin, colder now that the night has set in and the fire in the living room has long since burnt out, and Charles is almost overcome by the desire to crawl under the covers with Erik, though he knows it would likely be a bad idea.

“Sorry…” Charles mumbles. “I just wanted to check that you were okay. I’ll leave you alone now”.

As soon as Charles says the words he attempts to move away, but Erik maintains his hold as he continues to gaze at Charles, his eyes soft and full of pleading. It’s clear what Erik wants, even if he isn’t saying it, even if Charles couldn’t understand him if he tried, and the worst part is it’s what Charles wants to, though he feels like he doesn’t deserve it.

“Charles… Bitte bleib bei mir”.

It seems lighter in the room now that Charles’ eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and he can see how different Erik looks. Charles is accustomed to seeing Erik in complete order- his hair neatly swept back and his expression calm and collected- but now, though he is clearly trying not to let his emotions show, Erik looks deeply troubled, almost scared in fact. Charles understands the feeling well, and it’s that which prompts him to move closer and climb onto the sofa on top of Erik, sliding his legs either side of Erik’s as he settles down with his head resting against Erik’s chest.

It’s unbelievably soothing to be that close to Erik, to lie there as Erik sighs contentedly and reaches down to grasp hold of the blankets, pulling them up to drape over Charles, and tucking them in tight so that Charles is nice and snug. Charles murmurs happily and snuggles his face into Erik’s chest, intoxicated by the scent of Erik’s skin and the steady rhythm of his heart, and feeling like Erik’s arms wrapped around his back are a comfort, not a confinement. The morning will bring questions, Charles knows this, but for now he is happy to just remain where he is, realising that the type of support he’d hoped to give to Erik by staying is the same kind Erik has given him in return.

 

In the morning the air is cool and crisp, reminding Charles of the kind of frosty mornings he sometimes experienced during winter in Westchester, when he would awaken to Raven leaping into his bed, cuddling close and causing Charles to shriek as she pressed her cold feet against his legs. At the memory Charles smiles and snuggles closer to the warm body beneath his own, the solid weight that breathes in and out in a steady rhythm, the sound like waves lapping gently at some sandy shore. It takes Charles a moment to recollect, to remember where he is and what he’s doing, and when he does he immediately lifts his head upright, and is greeted by a set of blue-green-grey eyes that seem very much like the sea Charles has just been thinking about.

For a long moment Erik just stares at Charles, like he has just woken too and he is taking some time to gather his thoughts. But then he transfers one hand to gently hold Charles’ face as he murmurs: “Charles… Du siehst so schön aus am Morgen…”

The tone of admiration in Erik’s voice is unmistakeable, and instantly Charles begins to feel his face grow flushed, like all of the blood within his body is responding to Erik- fortunately remaining north of the border for now considering how close their bodies are pressed together… Erik’s thumb moves to draw across Charles’ lower lip, setting shivers alight along Charles’ spine because this is the closest he has ever been to Erik and it feels _so right_. But at the same time thoughts of last night still linger, and when Erik lifts his head and starts to edge closer, murmuring: “Ich habe gerade davon geträumt, dich zu küssen …” Charles knows it is time to withdraw.

The disappointment on Erik’s face is indisputable as Charles scurries away on the sofa, coming to a stop at the other end with his knees drawn up to his chest, his feet tangled in the blankets.

“Charles…” Erik says softly. Sometimes it’s like that’s the only word Erik knows so he uses it for everything, and this time it is full of soft pleading- an appeal that Charles tries hard to resist.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were surveying the prison?” Charles says, drawing the blankets more firmly around himself as Erik’s eyes begin to wander. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a mutant? Why didn’t you trust me?”

“Charles…” Erik murmurs again, though it’s clear he’s not entirely sure what Charles is asking. Frustrated, Charles lets out a low sigh as he looks around the room for something to assist him, eyes falling on the coffee table next to the sofa and the stack of books and papers resting on it.

Leaning to the side Charles picks up a small notepad and a pen, before using them to sketch a crude drawing- a stick figure inside a barred enclosure above which he writes the word ‘Charles’. Next to it Charles creates a similar drawing, only above this one he writes ‘Erik’ and adds a question mark.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Charles says, holding up the notepad to Erik and tapping it with his pen. “You were a prisoner too. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Erik stares at the drawing for a long moment, expression thoughtful and perhaps a little guilty, before he responds: “Ja, ich war auch ein Gefangener. Ich hätte es dir sagen sollen. Es tut mir leid, Charles”.

It sounds like an apology but Charles cannot be sure, and increasingly he finds himself thinking about his telepathy- missing his mutation desperately and the answers it could certainly bring. Evidently Erik is thinking along the same lines, as he lets out a similar sigh of exasperation to the one Charles did earlier, before he stands up from the sofa.

“Komm mit mir?” Erik requests, reaching a hand down to Charles and waggling his fingers as an invitation.

For a moment Charles gazes up at Erik, internally second guessing his own actions as he always seems to these days, before eventually he tentatively grasps Erik’s hand and stands up, ensuring that he keeps the blankets wrapped around himself for warmth and security.

With his hand in Erik’s Charles is led over to that same small office he blundered upon yesterday, one that Charles certainly didn’t think that Erik would be giving him access to any time soon. But without another word Erik uses his mutation to unlock the door, a small display of power that has Charles quietly awed, before he leads Charles inside and over to the desk.

The room is tidier than it was yesterday, the disorder caused by the bird and Charles’ intrusion clearly put back into place, and that’s not the only thing that is different. On top of the desk there is a small computer that Charles is sure he hasn’t seen before- an assumption confirmed when he notices the packaging in the bin next to the desk. Evidently this is something Erik purchased recently, perhaps something that was delivered yesterday, and Charles is excited to consider what it might mean- particularly as it could present a way for him to contact Raven. As it turns out, the computer has another purpose entirely.

When they reach the desk Erik takes a seat in the chair behind it, grasping Charles on the waist as he does so and encouraging Charles to follow him, so that Charles ends up sat comfortably in Erik’s lap. It’s definitely not the worst place to be, particularly as Erik’s arms come to fold across Charles’ stomach making him feel content and secure, though Charles is still somewhat grateful for the fact that he brought the blankets with him so that he and Erik aren’t _quite_ as close as they could be.

“Ich hoffe das funktioniert...” Erik says quietly as he turns on the computer, leaving Charles watching in anticipation as Erik starts up some programme Charles has never seen before, one that Charles doesn’t understand the purpose of until Erik speaks again.

After the computer programme has been initiated, leaving a small blinking circle visible on screen and nothing else, Erik wraps his arms once more around Charles’ waist and rests his forehead against Charles’ shoulder, palm rubbing Charles’ leg over the blankets as he murmurs: “Es tut mir leid…” There is a short pause, and then a voice from the computer says: _“I am sorry”._

Charles jumps slightly in surprise, turning to look at Erik as his lips draw up in a smile as a result of hearing someone speak the English language for the first time in days, even if it is just a computer. Erik grins back in response, replying in German as the computer translates: _“It is nice to finally speak to you”._

Of course, the computer isn’t quite the wonder Charles initially hopes it will be, mainly because Charles is certain that some of the translations are far too literal and not exactly what Erik or himself are actually trying to say. Still, it is a massive help, and when Charles repeats his question about whether Erik was also once imprisoned at the complex he is confident that he will finally get the answers he seeks.

In response, Erik reaches into one of the drawers of the desk, withdrawing the same faded photograph that Charles saw yesterday, and just the way Erik holds it with such careful reverence confirms to Charles what the robotic voice says moments later.

_“This is my mother and father. They were imprisoned with me. They died there”._

Instantly Charles feels desperately sad, so heartsick to consider the great loss Erik has suffered; all the things that have been stolen from him. He takes Erik’s hand and for a moment they just stay that way, holding on, like they have been doing all morning- as if everything they have lost in the world has now been found within each other.

After a short while Erik restores the photograph to where it came from, tucking it inside the drawer carefully before he reaches for Charles’ hand once more- interlocking their fingers and tracing his thumb across Charles’ palm. It’s the most content Charles has felt in a long time and he so badly wants to just remain there in comfortable silence, but within his mind questions still surge like an untempered storm, and he knows he needs answers.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a mutant?” Charles says eventually.

Erik pauses for a moment, fingers nervously tapping against Charles’ leg, before he quickly turns to rest his head against Charles’ shoulder, almost like he is trying to hide his face there as he replies quietly: “Ich wollte nicht, dass du mich verlässt…”

After a moment, the voice from the computer confirms Erik’s disclosure: _“I did not want you to leave me”._

Charles turns to regard Erik, or at least he tries to but Erik is still keeping his face turned away, and the avoidance makes it even harder for Charles to discern the meaning in Erik’s words. It’s arguable that Erik knows Charles would never leave just _because_ Erik was a mutant, so there must be some other explanation for his statement. Thanks to the assistance of the translation programme Charles asks for clarification, and the response he receives soon has his heart clenching in sympathetic understanding.

As Erik speaks Charles watches him, allowing the computer to fill in the blanks but reading so much from Erik’s expression and tone of voice anyway, even if Erik’s face is still slightly hidden. It all comes down to one thing: safety, or the perception of it. Erik tells Charles what is probably already evident- that Charles isn’t really safe with him, because even though Erik has been hiding in plain sight for years it would only take one small slip-up for the guards to become aware of who he is, to recognise the boy in the man before themselves, to use their considerable powers to take Erik back to the complex to torture him, or worse. If that happens they will take Charles too, and that’s the last thing either of them want.

But apparently it’s not just the risk of discovery that makes Erik fear that Charles will flee. Charles can never know how Erik says it, but the computer translates his words as: _“Power corrupts even our kind”,_ and in the moments immediately after Charles feels like he knows what Erik means. Though the guards and scientists and doctors in the complex were arguably the most callous, the most heartless, they weren’t the only adversaries Charles faced. There were other people- mutants- who allowed the horrendous situation they found themselves in to be a catalyst for cruelty, who manipulated the situation to their advantage in order to prosper- no matter who stood in the way. Charles suffered an account of those men more than once, and now- as he listens to Erik speak- he feels like he wasn’t the only one.

It’s clear then what Erik means- how he feared that Charles would learn of his mutation and assume that such a similarity would still be no basis for trust, because it had certainly been nothing to rely on in the past. It’s not how Charles _feels_ though, and he can’t help but gently run his fingers through Erik’s hair, waiting until Erik looks up before he says softly: “I feel safe with you, darling…” It must be too quiet for the computer too hear, because there is no robotic voice that repeats Charles’ words in German in the immediate moments afterwards.

“Was?” Erik asks as the computer echoes _“What?”,_ and Erik gazes at Charles like he is hoping to find answers in his eyes, or perhaps like he is simply lost in them. In response Charles leans over to press a simple kiss to Erik’s cheek, knowing he isn’t imagining the way Erik murmurs quietly and immediately turns his head, his nose just brushing against Charles’ as they linger in that place where they are almost kissing, but not quite. It remains a chaste press of Charles’ lips to Erik’s cheek though, as it should be, and Charles tries to pretend he doesn’t notice how disappointed Erik looks when he leans away.

 

The rest of the day passes quickly- the time spurred on by pleasant games of chess and numerous cups of tea. Erik brings the computer with him and places it beside the chess table, and as they sit they share simple conversation aided by the machine- the exchanges somewhat clunky and basic, but still satisfying. It’s reassuring for Charles to finally be able to speak to Erik in some form, and it makes the experience of beating Erik at chess even more enjoyable now that Charles is able to properly gloat… Of course, Erik gives as good as he gets, and Charles is rather childishly amused to be able to learn several German curses.

In the evening Erik cooks yet another fantastic meal, and Charles sits beside him at the table as they eat. It seems so natural now to be this close to Erik- to sit so that their legs are touching, so that Erik’s elbow bumps companionably against Charles’ arm as he reaches for his cup, so that Charles can feel the warmth of Erik’s body and smell the scent of his skin and clothes- an intoxicating aroma that has Charles wanting to turn and bury his face in Erik’s neck on more than one occasion. But though Charles feels Erik would welcome it, though Charles can tell from the way Erik smiles at him and occasionally leans down to whisper in Charles’ ear as they talk that he is interested, Charles never attempts anything. The whole situation is still so complicated, not least because of the knowledge that hangs over Charles like a heavy weight- the realisation that their time together will be short-lived.

At some point later in the evening, when Charles and Erik sit together in front of the fire in the bedroom, Erik brings up the very topic that Charles has been dwelling on, almost like he cannot forget it because the question is suspended in the air all around them. Through the assistance of the computer they talk about the fact that Charles is a mutant- discussing how his powers have been stunted by the drugs he was given whilst he was held in the complex, and debating how long it will be until they return. Charles knows that, based on what he has overheard from the prison doctors, his ability will return sometime tomorrow evening. As soon as Charles says this, Erik’s face falls.

It’s clear that Erik is disappointed, even if he doesn’t say anything, and startling for Charles to realise how much he has come to understand Erik’s body language and mannerisms even after only a few days. Perhaps it’s the fact that they have never been able to talk properly before, but Charles can read what is written in the expression in Erik’s eyes; how Erik clearly knows that the return of Charles’ powers will ultimately mean one thing- that he is going to be leaving. For two years Charles has thought of nothing else but returning home to his sister, but now- faced with the prospect of upsetting someone Charles has come to care for very deeply- things are not so clear.

But it’s a worry to be saved for the morning. As the evening wears on a deep, starless night sets in- cold and consuming- and in spite of the gently crackling fire Charles soon finds himself shivering, aching for the warmth and comfort of Erik’s large double bed. Unsurprisingly, Charles aches for the warmth and comfort of Erik himself as well.

As has become their routine Charles steps inside the bathroom to get dressed for bed first, trying not to notice the way Erik’s eyes linger as Charles re-enters the bedroom, his gaze like the heated rays of the sun drawing across Charles’ skin, almost making Charles feel completely naked even though he is dressed in warm pyjamas. Without uttering a word (something rendered pointless by the fact that the computer has now been switched off) Charles steps over to the bed and quickly slips beneath the covers, leaving Erik free to go into the bathroom to get changed himself. Of course, when Erik returns Charles finds that sleep has forsaken him, meaning that he is just lying there staring at Erik when he returns- his face just visible from beneath the heavy covers.

“Gute Nacht… Liebling…” Erik murmurs, giving Charles a long, soulful look.

It’s unfair how good Erik looks- how the inherent strength and warmth of his body is betrayed even by the thick jumper and pyjama bottoms he is wearing, how his eyes appear full of sentiment and longing, prompting reciprocal feelings in Charles. Charles knows the situation is still complicated, he knows that the best thing he could do is to just roll over and close his eyes, pushing away any thoughts of Erik nearby lying on the sofa, and how good it felt to sleep with him last night, how it made Charles feel safer than he’d been in years. But though Charles’ mind is made up his body isn’t listening, and it is without even thinking that he suddenly flips back the covers, raising his eyebrows in clear invitation.

Erik sucks in an unsteady breath in response, his eyes trailing over Charles’ body, and Charles is quietly charmed by the way Erik’s cheeks flush with low colour, making him seem more youthful and innocent than Charles has before. But there’s something else too, something decidedly less innocent, and Charles’ mouth dries as Erik swallows hard and shifts his hips awkwardly like he is trying to hide something, though it only makes it more obvious to Charles…

Rather abruptly Charles shifts over on the mattress, leaving one side of the blankets turned up for Erik but pulling the rest up around his face, so he can peek out and watch as Erik walks over and climbs into the bed, the mattress sagging delightfully and making Charles roll a bit closer as Erik settles down. Erik lies there facing Charles, keeping the lower part of his body a tasteful distance away- understandably, given the noticeable bulge Charles saw forming there earlier- but resting his head upon the pillow so that his face is inches away from Charles’. It’s intoxicating to be this close to Erik, something that Charles has only experienced once before earlier that morning, when they awoke together and Erik leaned in to kiss him before Charles moved away. Part of Charles wonders if it will happen again, and knows that this time he would let it happen, but rather than Erik’s lips it’s his hand that comes closer, his fingers sliding gently under the collar of Charles’ pyjama top and reaching, almost like they know what is there to be found.

As Erik’s fingertips brush against the broken skin Charles closes his eyes, painful memory flooding his senses as Erik traces the scar on his collarbone- the souvenir of two years of imprisonment. For the most part the guards and doctors were very careful, never leaving any marks other than mental ones, but the four-inch wound Erik is tracing is the result of a lapse in control, when the most vicious of the guards had tired of Charles’ incessant questions and had punished him accordingly. Charles didn’t even realise Erik had taken much notice of the scar- he’d thought he’d kept it concealed by his layers of clothing- but then he remembers the night Erik found him, when he’d been unconscious and Erik had removed the soaked guard’s uniform he was wearing, he remembers Erik joining him in the bathroom the previous day, and how Charles had been so distraught he hadn’t thought to cover up. Erik has known about the scar all this time, and Charles can’t help but wonder how many times Erik has thought of it, how many times Erik has traced it in his mind like he’s doing with his fingers right now, almost like he is trying to blot it out.

“Ich hasse es, dass dich jemand verletzt hat…” Erik murmurs, and Charles opens his eyes and sees himself reflected in Erik’s pained expression. There’s a hard lump forming in Charles’ throat making it hard for him to breathe, like a swell of panic forcing its way up his oesophagus, and he knows his eyes are large and glassy with tears. He knows this, because Erik is like a mirror- everything Charles is feeling written on his face, like they are one and the same, like the pain Charles feels is shared, mutual, like a burden carried by both parties.

For so long Charles has been trying to keep himself together, knowing that he can rely on no one but himself, knowing that his fate is solely within his own hands. But now it feels like Erik has him too, like Erik holds him and keeps him, like Erik will be there even when Charles’ legs are weak, when his heart is heavy and his lungs give out, when Charles can take it no more. For the first time in years, Charles is not alone.

Charles lets out a helpless sob as his eyes slide shut again, the relief he feels proving hard to handle after years of abject despair. Though Charles cannot see anything he feels Erik shift nearer- the warmth of him close and comforting as his hand leaves the scar and moves to cup Charles’ face, thumb slowly stroking the soft skin below Charles’ ear. Charles is completely spellbound as he feels Erik’s lips press gently to his forehead, to each of his closed eyelids, to the corner of his mouth, but when Charles opens his eyes and turns into it, desperately wanting to receive Erik’s kiss, Erik withdraws- watching Charles with an expression of careful consideration on his face.

“Nicht bevor du nicht bereit bist…” Erik says softly. “Ich werde auf dich warten, solange ich muss”.

Charles doesn’t know what Erik is saying, but it feels rather like acceptance- a reassurance that Charles does not need to worry, that Erik doesn’t expect anything from him. Nevertheless, Charles has so much he _wants_ to give, for the first time in years, but before he can do anything Erik is sliding his arms around Charles and pulling him closer, so that Charles is lying half-draped across Erik’s torso, his head resting against Erik’s chest and Erik’s arms wrapped around his body like a secure, comforting band.

Perhaps this is enough. Perhaps this is all Charles needs for now- to hold and be held by Erik, to lie there listening to the steady rhythm of Erik’s heartbeat, to feel Erik’s lips brush gently against his forehead as Erik presses a kiss there, smoothing out the lines of Charles’ brow. Perhaps this is the thing to sustain Charles until morning, until the time when Charles’ telepathy returns and he can finally protect himself, until the inevitable moment when Charles has to leave.

Charles turns his face further into Erik’s chest, inhaling the scent of Erik like he is trying to commit it to memory- something to sustain him when he once more ventures out into a world that is cold and dark.

“I don’t want to leave you…” Charles whispers.

In response, Erik only holds Charles tighter, almost like he has sensed what Charles is feeling and he doesn’t want to let him go. They remain that way as the fire burns out, as their breathing grows slow and steady, as they move ever closer together- like they are two pieces of a puzzle finally slotting into place. And before he sleeps Charles draws his palm slowly over Erik’s heart, and tells himself that it is not his to hold, even though he already feels like he would protect it with his life.


	5. Nacht Fünf

 

 

The next morning feels more like home than Westchester ever did. Though there is no Raven greeting Charles with a bleary grumble before she has had her first coffee of the day, though there is no humdrum noise of the servants busying themselves with their morning routines, when Charles awakes he feels warm and safe and secure, and knows there is nowhere he would rather be.

The thing that rouses Charles that morning is not the same nightmare that has plagued him for years, it is the feeling of someone’s hand in-between his shoulder blades, steadily rubbing the area in slow circles. Charles blearily blinks back sleep as he opens his eyes, feeling instantly soothed by the sight of Erik’s body beneath his own, and perhaps a little bit embarrassed as he realises he has essentially draped himself over Erik like a slutty blanket… However, it soon becomes clear that Erik doesn’t mind, as he keeps his arms wrapped around Charles and dips his head to press a kiss to Charles’ temple; that simple, soft touch enough to have sparks alighting Charles’ soul emanating from where Erik’s lips are pressed.

“Guten Morgen, Liebling…” Erik murmurs.

It would be so easy for Charles to tilt his head up, to steal the kiss he wants so badly from Erik’s lips, to strip his clothes off and beg Erik to touch him, to give himself to Erik like he knows he wants to. But it is morning now, and in about twelve hours’ time Charles’ telepathy will return and he will have to leave, and he knows that if he allows any intimacy to unfold between them it will only make everything that much harder.

It’s with that same conviction that Charles quickly withdraws from bed, flashing Erik a small, shy smile and offering him a polite: “Good morning” before he hastens towards the bathroom, closing the door behind himself as he prepares to take a shower. After washing and redressing in the same pyjamas as before (given Charles was in such a rush he neglected to take any clothes in with him) he returns to the bedroom- expecting to find that Erik has ventured into the kitchen to make breakfast, but instead seeing that Erik is still there.

Erik is sitting on the edge of the bed staring at Charles, comely and warm in his jumper and pyjama bottoms, with his hair in slight disarray like he has only just run his hand through it in an attempt to form it into some sort of order. There are questions in his eyes, and worry, and concern- all of the things Charles is feeling too- but though Charles wants to go to him he knows he cannot. His resolve is strong- it has to be; he has to maintain distance if he is going to have the strength to leave. But then Charles looks away towards the window, sees the wintery scene outside through a small gap in the curtains, and as Charles watches the snow fall he finds that his resolve does too.

By the time Charles is standing in front of Erik- the two of them gazing at each other like the rest of the world has ceased to exist- Charles’ heart is hammering within his chest like he has just run for miles. Charles’ mouth is dry and his palms are clammy, because he knows what he wants now he just doesn’t know how to ask- not just because Erik cannot understand him, but because it is hard to ask for something when you have been denied everything for years. But in spite of his fears Charles tentatively reaches one hand to hold Erik’s face carefully, reverently, and looks down at him as he says the word: “Please…”

Erik’s eyes narrow slightly as he gazes up at Charles, replying: “Was möchtest du?” quietly; the questioning response suggesting that he hasn’t understood in the least. Perhaps it is true that actions speak louder than words ever could, and it’s with this in mind that Charles takes a small step back and reaches for his pyjama top, fingers fumbling with the buttons as he slowly undoes the garment, exposing his bare chest. Erik watches the act fervently, mouth parting as his eyes draw slowly down the length of Charles’ torso, until the point when Charles steps closer once more, his voice soft and pleading as he says again: “Please…”

Charles is shaking, he knows he is, and every second that Erik isn’t touching him feels like agony. But then Erik leans closer, placing one hand so that his palm is splayed across the point of Charles’ hip, and as he dips his head and presses his mouth to Charles’ belly Charles whimpers, because the touch is everything. Erik’s mouth moves lower, licking and sucking at Charles’ sensitive skin, prompting Charles to groan and slide his hands to fist in Erik’s hair, feeling like he is sinking, falling, and he needs to hold on for stability. It’s almost sinfully good the way Erik’s tongue trails along Charles’ abdomen just above the line of his pyjama bottoms, an act that has Charles’ cock filling rapidly, something Erik clearly recognises by the way he slides his hand lower and begins to palm at the area.

“Was möchtest du, Charles?” Erik murmurs, leaning back and looking up at him. Erik’s eyes are dark with lust, a low flush is colouring his cheekbones, and his lips are moist from marking Charles’ skin. He looks _gorgeous_ , stunning, and for a moment it’s hard to believe that this is someone Charles has met because they have both at one point escaped from a mutant prison, and not just some handsome stranger Charles has picked up in a bar. But the way Erik touches him carefully, respectfully- like Charles is a delicate treasure that might shatter if handled incorrectly- reminds Charles of the reality of the situation.

“Komm her…” Erik continues, a sentence that Charles finally understands, an instruction he follows as he allows Erik to pull him closer, climbing onto Erik’s lap so that their torsos are pressed together. Erik pauses for a long, lingering moment- watching Charles carefully, almost like he is waiting for objection- and then he leans closer, and his kiss takes Charles’ breath away.

It has been so long since Charles was kissed by anyone that he feels practically virginal in his response- whimpering and moaning as Erik’s tongue slides into his mouth and brushes against Charles’ own. Charles holds onto Erik ardently, desperately- completely compliant as Erik leans backwards, using the hold he has on Charles to roll him over so that Charles is lying on his back on the bed, his body aching for friction now that it is no longer pressed against Erik’s. But before Charles can attempt to pull Erik closer once more Erik gently squeezes Charles’ shoulder and turns him over, so that Charles is lying on his stomach on the mattress in-between Erik’s spread legs.

It’s vulnerable, but at the same time Charles feels completely safe lying there before Erik, quiet and still as he waits for whatever is coming next, and knowing he trusts Erik enough to let him do whatever he desires. Erik’s large hands splay across the small of Charles’ back as they push his pyjama shirt higher up, so that Erik can press his mouth to Charles’ skin, tongue trailing up the length of Charles’ spine as words are murmured with each precious kiss.

“Sag mir, Charles- was möchtest du? Willst du, dass ich dich ficke, oder willst du mich ficken? Wärst du lieber aktiv oder passiv?”

Erik manhandles Charles out of his pyjama shirt before he dips his head and draws his tongue across one of Charles’ shoulder blades, trailing up to Charles’ neck before Erik’s mouth nips at Charles’ ear and he whispers: “Was auch immer du willst, Charles- du kannst es haben. Ich werde es dir geben…”

“Erik…” Charles murmurs in response, because it’s all he can say, because he hopes that the tone of his voice can somehow convey just how much he wants this, just how much he needs Erik to touch him, to hold him. Charles turns his face towards Erik and for a short, blissful moment their mouths meet, but then Erik moves away again- leaving Charles trembling in anticipation and wanting more.

Erik leans back so that he is knelt in-between Charles’ knees, the palms of his hands smoothing slowly down Charles’ back until they come to rest on Charles’ buttocks, cupping Charles’ arse through his clothing admiringly.

“Liebling… Du bist so schön…” Erik says softly, the tone of appreciation in his voice unmistakable and prompting a rush to colour Charles’ face, a flush that only deepens as Erik seizes hold of Charles’ pyjama bottoms and slowly pulls them down, prompting Charles to squirm and turn to hide his face in the pillows.

Whatever discomfort Charles is feeling is clearly read, as instantly Erik stops what he’s doing and seizes hold of the blankets, bringing them with him as he leans over Charles once more, pressing his face into Charles’ neck and lifting the sheets up so that they are both completely covered.

“Es ist okay, Charles…” Erik whispers, pressing a kiss to the back of Charles’ neck. “Wenn es dir unangenehm ist, können wir aufhören”.

Erik’s body is a warm, welcome weight against Charles’ back pressing him down into the mattress, the blankets up over them making Charles feel completely safe and secure in spite of the fact that he is now mostly nude. It would be easy to just lie there and enjoy the blissful moment for what it is, but as well as Erik’s heartbeat thrumming strong against Charles’ back he can feel Erik’s cock pushed against his arse, thick and heavy even through the pyjama bottoms Erik is wearing, and it’s unbelievably distracting.

Without further thought Charles shifts his hips, pushing his arse back against Erik’s crotch and earning himself a deep groan from Erik in response- the warmth of Erik’s breath against Charles’ neck sending a delicious shiver through his body. The desire to see Erik naked is almost overwhelming, prompting Charles to reach back and tug helplessly at Erik’s jumper, hoping Erik will get the hint and knowing that he has when he moves away, there is the sound of clothing being removed, and then Charles can feel Erik’s bare torso against his back.

“Charles…” Erik murmurs. He grasps hold of Charles’ waist, rolling his hips and nudging his clothed cock more firmly against Charles’ arse, making Charles gasp and push back, allowing Erik to pull him so that he is braced on his knees with his chest still flush against the mattress. It seems to be where Erik wants him, and as soon as Charles is there Erik starts to trail a long line down Charles’ spine with his mouth as he disappears beneath the sheets- lower, lower, until Erik’s warm breath ghosts across Charles’ backside and Charles trembles in anticipation.

“Darf ich dich hier küssen?” Erik asks softly, his hands gently spreading Charles’ buttocks, making his intentions clear even if Charles cannot fully understand the words.

“Yes…” Charles breathes, wriggling to assist as Erik starts to slide Charles’ pyjama bottoms off completely. “Yes, Erik- that, _please_ …” As soon as Charles is fully bared he rests his torso down against the mattress once more, wrapping his arms around the pillow and bracing his knees as he feels Erik move into position, and gasping as Erik reaches a hand between Charles’ legs to grasp his cock.

“Perfekt…” Erik murmurs, holding Charles’ cock in his hand and rubbing his thumb against the shaft. The sheets are starting to creep down Charles’ back now that Erik is sat upright but Charles finds that he doesn’t really care anymore, he only wants Erik and his careful hands and his gorgeous mouth, regardless of how vulnerable the whole situation makes him feel.

“Erik…” Charles whispers. “ _Please_ …”

Erik loosens his hold on Charles cock as he dips his head to press a kiss to the small of Charles’ back, lips trailing lower and lower until he is mouthing at Charles’ entrance, making Charles writhe and moan as unfamiliar sensation runs through him, heady and intense. It’s clear that Erik knows exactly what he’s doing, that he knows how to touch and kiss Charles to make him whimper, that he knows exactly what motions are required to make Charles shamelessly push back against Erik’s face, his cock achingly hard between his legs and slick with pre-come. Charles realises that Erik could probably make him come just from this, if he wanted to, but evidently that’s not what Erik has in mind, as when Charles’ moans grow increasingly loud and desperate Erik withdraws, and proceeds to kiss up the length of Charles’ spine once more.

“Darf ich dich ficken?” Erik mumbles once he has reached Charles’ ear. “Würde dir das gefallen?” Erik’s crotch presses pointedly against Charles’ arse, prompting Charles to fumble blindly behind himself as he hooks his fingers through the waistband of Erik’s pyjama bottoms and pulls them down, moaning helplessly as he feels the length of Erik’s hard cock spring free and nudge against his buttocks.

It’s almost a little amusing to Charles how, in the bedroom, the language barrier between himself and Erik is suddenly of little consequence. Though Charles would love to understand all the deliciously filthy things Erik is saying to him, though he would love to know what Erik means when he rolls Charles onto his back and looks down at him, brushing Charles’ hair back from his forehead as he says softly: “Ich wünschte du würdest bei mir bleiben…”, in the next second Erik is stroking Charles’ cock and kissing him, and nothing else seems to matter.

After a succession of heartfelt kisses and mutual touches Charles can’t help but whine a little as Erik withdraws, though his objections become muted as Erik leans over and reaches into the bedside table, retrieving some condoms and a bottle of lube. Suddenly Charles is nervous again, mouth drying as he lies there and watches as Erik tears open the wrapper with his teeth, heart pounding as he watches Erik unroll the condom onto his huge member, the latex not reaching anywhere near the base. Charles has never seen anything more beautiful than the sight of Erik knelt between his spread legs, cock hard and urgent, eyes dark and lustful. Erik’s body is glorious, and Charles even adores the succession of marks that cover Erik’s torso- some that seem like evidence of an active, self-sustained life but most that hum ominously of the complex and everything that undoubtedly happened there. And it is with such adoration in mind that Charles leans forward and presses his mouth to Erik’s chest, drawing his hands slowly over the defined muscles of Erik’s abdomen before he grasps Erik’s hands and starts to guide them around to his backside.

“Prep me, Erik…” Charles whispers, looking up as he feels Erik’s fingertips trail slowly down the line in-between his buttocks. “I want to feel you inside of me…”

It’s the least of what Charles wants. He wants to be kissed, to be held, to be touched. He wants to forget where he’s come from and everything bad that’s ever happened to him. He wants to give himself to Erik and let Erik fuck him, until he can remember nothing in the universe but the feeling of Erik’s cock in his arse and the sound of Erik’s voice as he comes.

“Charles…” Erik murmurs in return, pressing his fingers gently against Charles’ entrance. Whilst Charles has been daydreaming Erik has coated his fingers in lubricant, and slowly he starts to push them inside Charles’ hole, causing Charles to groan and cling helplessly onto Erik for support as his body at first resists the intrusion, until the moment when his muscles inevitably relax. Charles continues to lean heavily against Erik as he is prepped, his hard cock pressed against Erik’s and trapped in the space in-between their stomachs, his eyes fixed devotedly on Erik’s face as Erik continues to gaze down at him, almost like he is continually checking to see if Charles is okay. Charles can’t remember the last time he felt this good, and as Erik carefully slides his fingers back out Charles smiles up at him, and feels his heart surge with joy when Erik smiles back.

“Leg dich hin, Liebling- lass mich dich ansehen”, Erik says, using his hold on Charles to gently tip him backwards, until Charles is lying back against the mattress and Erik is ranging over him once more. Erik dips his head to kiss Charles as he slides his hands to hold Charles’ thighs, carefully moving him into position, and prompting Charles to inhale a shaky breath as he feels Erik’s cock nudge against his entrance.

“Erik…” Charles murmurs. Erik reaches his hands up to run tenderly through Charles’ hair, fingertips drawing slowly across Charles’ scalp and making him shiver as Erik pauses and gazes intently into Charles’ eyes, his cock still braced against Charles’ hole.

“Bist du sicher?” Erik says softly. He moves his thumb to brush gently against Charles’ lower lip as he continues: “Sag mir, wenn du aufhören willst”.

Though Charles doesn’t know what Erik is saying, he feels like he understands. Erik has stopped moving and he is staring at Charles intently, almost like he is waiting for Charles’ tacit permission to continue. It’s a lot to offer to someone who has been kept imprisoned for two years, to someone who has almost forgotten what it feels like to have control over their own life, and it’s enough to have tears welling up in Charles’ eyes as he wraps his arms around Erik’s shoulders and pulls him in for a kiss, murmuring: “Erik, fuck me… _please_ …” before he lifts his legs and presses his feet into the small of Erik’s back. Erik clearly understands, as shortly after he shifts his hips and begins to drive his cock into Charles’ arse, causing Charles to groan helplessly into Erik’s mouth.

“Mein Gott, Charles”, Erik groans, the words mumbled against Charles’ lips. “Du fühlst dich so gut an…”

Charles can do little more in response other than moan Erik’s name, overcome by the heady sensation of Erik’s thick cock filling him completely; a pleasure bordering on pain as Erik starts to rock into Charles in steady thrusts. But fortunately Erik is careful- he moves slowly and considerately, monitoring Charles’ face for signs of distress, and pausing any time Charles tenses in pain. And before long the discomfort dissipates, replaced by pure pleasure as Erik’s member nudges repeatedly against Charles’ prostate, causing Charles to gasp and reach for his own cock, stroking it firmly in time with Erik’s thrusts.

It could all be over in an instant- everything feels so intense and so good that Charles is sure that he’s constantly only seconds away from coming, but every time his moans grow a little too intense Erik reaches down and grasps Charles’ arms, pressing both his hands down into the mattress to prevent him from touching himself. With Erik in control Charles is constantly kept in a state of acute pleasure, crying out as Erik fucks him and kisses his neck and murmurs all sorts of potentially wonderful and devastating things to him in German, his voice low and incredibly seductive. Before long the sheets beneath Charles’ back are damp with sweat and the air is dense and it’s the hottest Charles has felt since he came to this frozen wasteland, because Erik’s body is warm everywhere Charles touches him and he can’t stop touching him _._ But though in many ways Charles wishes this could last forever, wishes that he could be in Erik’s bed, with him, underneath him, for the rest of time, he knows that it’s not possible. Fortunately though, the climax almost allows him to forget that fact.

“Erik, I’m… I’m…” Charles gasps, turning his face to the side as Erik lifts Charles’ hips up higher, enabling him to rock forward in deeper thrusts that have Charles’ head spinning and his cock throbbing. It feels so good that Charles is finding it hard to breathe, much less do anything else, and he’s grateful when Erik wraps a hand around his cock, beginning to stroke in time with his thrusts. The touch is all it takes to push Charles over the edge, and then he is crying out through his climax, feeling hot come splash across his own stomach as Erik’s movements grow shaky and uncontrolled, and he presses his face into Charles’ neck as he comes too.

It takes a short while to come back down to earth after that. For a long time Charles just lies there, limbs shaky and still wrapped around Erik’s body, heart pounding fiercely within his chest, mouth pressed to the locks of damp hair curled across Erik’s forehead.

Charles knows that when they separate it will be real. When they separate the blissful morning will over, and Charles will be ever closer to the point when he has to leave the cabin, and Erik, for good. It’s something that should be a positive thing- in a few hours Charles should start to feel his telepathy come back, he should once more be able to feel the comforting presence of other minds around his own- he should start to feel safe again. But the problem is, in many ways, Charles _already_ feels safe. Though the complex looms mere miles away Charles finds that he does not fear it, because he has Erik and that seems like enough.

“I don’t want to go…” Charles murmurs quietly.

Erik stirs where he is lying, lifting up to gaze down at Charles- his expression instantly growing concerned as he looks at Charles’ crestfallen face.

“Charles, geht es dir gut? Habe ich dich verletzt?”

Charles knows it isn’t fair to put this burden on Erik, that what he wants is inconsequential in comparison to what he must do, and even though the desire to stay with Erik is all-consuming it wouldn’t be right. Because it’s not just Erik Charles has to think about- it’s Raven too. It’s his friends and colleagues back home. It’s the life he left behind when he embarked on the stupid endeavour that brought him here two years ago. And it’s like the two things don’t reconcile- Charles’ life in America and his life with Erik- and he knows no amount of forcing will make them fit.

“Thank you…” Charles says quietly, smoothing both hands through Erik’s hair. Charles can still feel Erik’s cock inside of himself, a reminder of the intimacy that they have just shared, and Charles knows that they need to sever now before he blurts out to Erik how much he wants to stay when he knows that he cannot.

 

The rest of the day is like an age, and at the same time like nothing at all. Charles and Erik shower separately, they eat breakfast, they play chess, and as each hour passes Charles feels like he is just waiting for the moment when he senses his telepathy reactivate once more- something he both wants and dreads in equal measure. Through the assistance of the computer they discuss Charles’ plans to leave, and in spite of Charles’ protests Erik begins to put together a bag for him to take containing supplies like food, clothing, and money. Charles doesn’t want to take anything from Erik, not when he has already been given so much, but Erik insists and he is resilient in his efforts to help.

At some point during the day Charles asks Erik about what he will do once Charles is gone, not daring to hope that the answer will be that Erik is going to spend his time pining over Charles and miserably wanking to his memory… The answer is one that Charles probably should have seen coming but one that surprises him nonetheless- Erik plans to continue with his surveillance of the prison up until the point when he has gathered enough intel to enable him to infiltrate the facility. Apparently it has always been Erik’s intention to return to the complex and to liberate the mutants held prisoner there, but he has been biding his time so as to ensure he attacks at the most opportune moment. Charles doesn’t know how long it will take for Erik to put his plan into action, he only hopes that it is soon, and tries not to feel guilty about the fact that he isn’t going to be a part of it.

The first time Charles becomes aware of his telepathy once more he is in the bedroom with Erik, watching as Erik selects a number of jumpers to stuff into the bag he has prepared for Charles. The sensation is like a flicker of light, like seeing the fragment of an image through the haze of a dream- more feeling than perception, more sense than sight. Erik is grasping a blue jumper in his hands, and as he holds it he draws his palm slowly over the soft material, and thinks to himself about how much the colour of it reminds him of Charles’ eyes. When Charles realises that it’s not just something he has imagined, that the feeling he’s getting is his telepathy reaching out and plucking the thought from Erik’s mind and using sense to translate it into something meaningful, he almost cries. Instead, he kisses Erik.

It’s a bad idea, worse than the first time it happened, and it ends up with Charles and Erik sprawled naked across the bed, scattered items of clothing strewn all around them, lost to the throes of passion. Charles straddles Erik and sinks down onto his cock, and feels the explosion of joy and pleasure within Erik’s mind as they connect, and the underlying sense of tragedy beneath it all that confirms that Erik is as remorseful about Charles’ decision to leave as Charles himself is. Erik understands though, that much is evident- though it is clear that, to Erik, meeting Charles has been very much like finding something he didn’t know he was missing his whole life, he knows why Charles has to go, and doesn’t blame him for it. Still, in the moment after they have both climaxed, when they lie there, sticky and sated, limbs and hearts and minds intertwined, Charles wishes for a moment that things were different, because he knows now what he has with Erik.

Charles holds Erik carefully, drawing his hands over Erik’s face like he is trying to commit him to memory, and says softly: “I wish I could tell you how much this has meant to me. How much _you_ mean to me. I wish I could make you understand, because it kills me that you don’t know how safe I feel with you; how cared for”. Charles pauses, tears threatening to spill from his eyes as he finishes, saying the words that make his throat burn with emotion but that he needs to get out: “Erik, I… I know you can’t love me, but you make me feel loved…”

In response Erik’s expression crumples, and as his lower lip starts to tremble Charles knows he needs to leave, because if it hurts now it will hurt that much more when his telepathy is completely restored, and he can’t bear to think of how painful that would be. In some ways it could be kinder to linger, to allow himself the time to explain to Erik everything he has just said- to wait until he can use his telepathy to translate the words, or to project the feeling into Erik’s mind. But at the same time such a thing would be torturous, it would only make each of them suffer more, and it’s that understanding which prompts Charles to go.

Erik remains in bed whilst Charles showers and redresses, not even withdrawing from the sheets when Charles returns to the bedroom and begins to pick up the bag Erik has prepared. It’s clear that Erik knows what’s happening, and Charles can’t help but wonder if perhaps he is already projecting more than he knows, and if Erik has somehow understood what Charles said earlier. Nevertheless, now is not the time to dwell on the matter. Regrets and reprisals can come later.

Before he leaves, Charles wanders tentatively over to the bed and places a hand on Erik’s shoulder over the blankets, knowing he is still there by the sound of his breathing but being unable to see anything other than the top of his head. Charles’ squeezes Erik’s shoulder and leans down, pressing a kiss into Erik’s soft hair and whispering: “Danke” before he withdraws, and biting his lip to keep from saying anything further, trying desperately to hold back everything he is feeling. The act of restraint continues as Charles wanders slowly though the cabin he has come to adore, as he opens the front door and steps out into the bitter cold outside, but after Charles has taken only a few steps he hears the sound of his name being called, and his defences are rendered useless.

Charles turns and Erik is there, still wrapped up in one of the blankets, the glimpse of bare chest Charles can see prompting an instant concern that Erik will catch a cold if he is not careful. But it’s clear that Erik has little regard for his own health at that moment as he immediately strides out into the snow without any footwear on, marching up to Charles and opening the blankets just long enough to wrap his arms around Charles and pull him into a fierce hug.

There, in Erik’s arms, in the icy air contrasted by the warmth of Erik’s body against his own, Charles feels himself fall. His body shakes and his breath catches short and he begins to cry for the things he has lost, for the way he feels like he is losing even more now, for the injustice and sad reality of it all, for the way he can feel Erik crying too. It’s clear that this isn’t Erik trying to stop him it’s Erik saying goodbye, and so Charles gives himself to the moment- he lets himself hold Erik and repeat his name and feel the clear spectrum of his mind for the first time; some shining, bright light that Charles aches to explore but knows that he never can. And then, when they are both weak and heartsick and heavy, Charles withdraws. Erik kisses Charles once- an intense embrace that feels more like dying than anything in the prison ever did- and then he steps back and turns away, and within a short while he is back inside the cabin once more, and Charles is alone.

 

Charles can still feel Erik’s kiss some time later as he walks across the icy tundra that stretches in front of himself, almost like the imprint of Erik’s mouth has frozen to him like some permanent, bleak reminder of everything Charles has lost, of everything he wants but cannot have. The scope of Charles’ telepathy is increasing now and he can feel the life emanating from the nearest town, and knows that within a short while he will be back in civilisation once more and he can contact Raven at last and tell her he’s alive and arrange to take the first plane back to see her.

It’s a moment Charles has been desperately anticipating for so long now, and when he finally gets to hear Raven’s voice, faint and crackled through the telephone wire, he feels himself break all over again. It’s a sharp and splintering sensation- something painful and bitterly ironic given that it is exactly the opposite of how Charles felt when he left Erik earlier; a joyful agony rather than a dismal one that confirms to Charles what he already knows, what he has known since he touched the barest eminence of Erik’s mind earlier.

Charles will return to America. He will see Raven again and resume his job teaching at the university and settle back into ordinary life. But not yet. Right now, Charles has somewhere to be. Right now, Charles has someone who needs him, and who he needs in return.

 

It’s dark when Charles returns to the cabin, when he trudges through the snow to reach the front door, slumping ungracefully against it as he lifts a hand to knock loudly. From inside the cabin Charles sees the living room light turn on, the glow just filtering out through the frozen glass panel, and then the door is opening and Erik is there, and the look of shock on his face would be funny were Charles not feeling so unbelievably emotional at the sight of him.

“Charles…” Erik murmurs uselessly, his expression dazed and disbelieving. “Ich dachte, du würdest nach Hause gehen?”

The words mean little to Charles’ ears but thanks to his telepathy his mind understands the question, and he knows that Erik is asking why he hasn’t gone home after all. In response Charles smiles widely, and steps closer to Erik- placing both hands on Erik’s broad chest as he gazes up at him and gives an answer that, finally, he knows Erik will recognise, and appreciate.

“Ich bin bereits da”, Charles says, heart instantly warming as he sees Erik smile and knows he has understood the words.

_“I’m already there”._

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover art for 'Five Nights in Nuremberg'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12948081) by [avictoriangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avictoriangirl/pseuds/avictoriangirl)




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